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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27925318">Waiting for Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeking7/pseuds/Seeking7'>Seeking7</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Legend of Zelda &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, But Grandpa Smith is here to help him, Dink is Bad at Being Nice, Dink is Bad at Feelings, Dink is Bad at everything but Being Bad, Domestic Fluff, Father-son dynamics between Grandpa Smith and Dink, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Grandpa Smith is Four's biggest fan, Grandpa Smith is basically p4 Joseph Joestar but slightly less senile, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), author is open to concrit, even though Dink is technically eons older than Grandpa Smith, no beta we die like octorocks, not a lot but there is some, tags and rating may change</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:41:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,687</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27925318</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeking7/pseuds/Seeking7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark Link kidnaps Grandpa Smith in order to get a leg up on the Links -- especially a certain, irritatingly intelligent blacksmith. Everything goes as planned, and not only does Dink gain leverage over the group, he now has a source of nearly inexhaustible information on Four. </p><p>However, Dink quickly learns that his hostage is...sickeningly kind. </p><p>++++ </p><p>A fic inspired by Avicii's "Stories" album. </p><p>(Updates most Sundays)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dink &amp; Grandpa Smith (Linked Universe), Four &amp; Grandpa Smith (Linked Universe), That isn't an established tag!, im considerably less surprised that isnt a tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>130</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Gonna Love Ya</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sometimes it's hard to have the upper hand<br/>When every dream you've had is turning into sand<br/>You need someone to make your day<br/>But he took your breath and blew it away  </p><p> </p><p>◢ ◤ "Gonna Love Ya" - Avicii ◢ ◤</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>The life of a shadow is a tragic one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are given life by their antithesis -- the gold of heaven, the silver of the moon, the copper of street lights. They are given shape by a creator who never cared to make them -- a byproduct of daylight, an accident of living, happenstance not worth a thought. They are pools of midnight at midday -- dripping and creeping behind children and beggars, only perceived through the shapes they reflect. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are hollow, empty reflections of things they can never be.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shells. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Meaningless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So what is to be said when a shadow becomes conscious? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When an empty soul is awakened, when the darkness opens its eyes and stares at itself like a newborn, what is to be said? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the shadows beg for independence from their creator, freedom from the light, a pair of lungs to breathe with and a pair of legs to stand on, what is to be said? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What is to be said to something that’s not supposed to exist? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry, little one, there is no love to be spared for you in this world. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Go back from whence you came. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There is nothing for you here. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is the answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is what is said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link knew this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was in his name. Dark </span>
  <b>Link</b>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A shadow, a whisper, an empty reflection of something greater. His name brought up not an image of himself, but that of the being he reflected. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yang is spoken, yet Yin is summoned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A duality tainted by favoritism of centuries past. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was born from the blackness of a hero’s heart, ink stains on parchment, sins covered in wax and hatred buried under emerald cloth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A being born from a thousand memories, a hundred vices, a dozen fears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A being that had no right to love. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And yet, he waited. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Squick, squick, squick. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Huuu, aah, huuu, aah, huuu, aah.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link twitched within the body he was piloting, covering ears that weren’t his with hands that didn’t belong to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Why did Hylian bodies make so many noises?</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Possessing -- no, that word was a little dramatic for his taste -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>piloting </span>
  </em>
  <span>plants and shadows was always much easier. Much quieter. There were no groaning heartbeats or sticky coughing or cacophonous inhales. No itchy hair or twitchy, over-sensitive ears, no shaky pleas from the other being’s consciousness for him to leave them alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He coughed and shivered. Rain trickled down his back and turned his clothes to dripping rags. Snow crunched beneath him as he took a seat in an alleyway. The shadows of tenement buildings and forgotten laundry rotting on overhead lines covered him, shielding him from prying eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was strange, being in a Hylian body again. This one was much taller than the ones he usually preferred. There seemed to be something wrong with the lungs (no big surprise, he had seen the body’s owner smoking a cigar before he had taken up temporary residence in the man’s mind), and a prickle of alcohol ran through his veins. It was barely noon. Had this fool really been drinking so early in the day?  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh well. It wasn’t going to change anything, so might as well stop wasting time thinking about it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link ran a hand over his head and down the front of his borrowed face, marveling at the curly blond hair and sharp, colorless stubble on the man’s chin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stubble -- he had always liked the idea of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The body shivered again, and Dark Link forced himself to rise. Hylians had no tolerance for the cold, apparently, but that wasn’t a problem. He wouldn’t be out in the snow for much longer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a good thing he had decided to borrow the body of a carriage driver. The man had plenty of memories to sort through, and despite his ragamuffin appearance and behavior, had a fantastic mental map of the city. Dark Link let the stolen memories run through his fingers as he walked through the streets.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Smith, Smith, any memories about a blacksmith named Smith? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Here are a few…ah, this one’s recent…  </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just outside Castle Town...first house to the left… </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was right. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As usual. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link hurried to the carriage at the side of the road, congratulating himself again on picking a carriage driver as a host. It wouldn’t have been too hard to steal a stagecoach and a few horses if he had to, but operating under the pretense of legality always made things easier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The horses neighed with relief as he pulled the feed bags off their muzzles, and the carriage wheels squeaked as he took a seat up front. He took the reins and gently muttered for the horses to move forward, letting the body’s muscle memory guide his movements. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And off they went. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The carriage bounced over the cobblestone street, and the clop of horse hooves was almost as deafening as the body’s breathing. People swarmed around him as he steered the carriage into Castle Town Square. A vendor tried to toss him a shield, another tried to wipe down his carriage for a few rupees, and yet another was waving discount horseshoes in his face. He waved them away with a grunt and a glare -- there was no time to spare over mindless chatter -- and picked out a path through the plaza. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Apartment buildings sprouted around him as the carriage rumbled into the residential part of the capital. Children bundled up in winter suits skipped and danced through the snow, chasing stray cats and migrating birds. Pregnant mothers hovered behind them, their pointed fingertips pink from the cold. Tiny poinsettias grew by whitewashed windows. Golden lights spilled from doors slightly ajar, and the smell of domesticity hung like cinnamon over the air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link’s eyes wandered. What was it like to live in one of those apartments? To live in a grey-and-white cubicle filled with mediocre furniture and mediocre art, a pantry of second-hand food and second-rate clothing, waking up to a half-hearted sunrise to go to a half-hearted job…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An average life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A normal life. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A cavity in his chest flickered with a vague, tight feeling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had already begun to chastise himself for getting distracted when something rolling around on the carriage floor knocked against his ankles. He peered down to pick it up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Huh, a horse whip. And a barely-used one at that, if the clean, oily sheen of the handle meant anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He placed it in his lap and tightened his hands on the reigns. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The horses trotted on, guided by the gentle but firm tugs on the reins. Apartment buildings faded behind him as the cobblestone road turned to dirt. The sound of singing and shouting and clamoring street vendors melted away, replaced by a countryside lullaby of crickets and birds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suburbia splayed out before him, sparkling on emerald hills cloaked in frost. Cottages perched on hills like birds on a wire. Snowflakes fluttered in the air, tossed about by an east-bound wind, and the caw of migratory birds echoed from above. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The emptiness in Dark Link’s chest burned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And the bell tower struck six. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link’s eyes widened. He was wasting time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grabbed the horse whip and cracked it viciously. The half-asleep horses startled into action, and the carriage glided down the dirt paths. Cottages and houses blurred by. The smell of pumpkin pie and laundry suds were swept aside, and Dark Link’s eyes narrowed as the carriage rumbled into the village. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>First house on the left. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There it was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link yanked on the reins and brought the carriage to a stop. He pulled down his traveling hood, letting the sodden cloth drip snow and rainwater down his chin. The timepiece on his wrist glimmered, and Dark Link smiled to himself when he realized he had arrived just in time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perfect. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t be needing the body anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a hiss and blech of sulfur, Dark Link detached himself from the body. It slumped over in the driver's seat like a wet rag doll. Guttural snores echoed in the air, and Dark Link grunted in disdain as his consciousness melded with the shadows. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link pressed himself into the shadows cast by frozen blades of grass. The crimson glow of his eyes glittered off the snow, growing even brighter when the front door of the house swung open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A visitor in this weather?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silhouette hobbled out of the house, supported by a mahogany cane and swaddled in a blanket. A neon-yellow bucket hat sagged on his head. A pair of half-moon glasses sat askew on his nose, and the smell of old man and vanilla trailed behind him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link grunted in disappointment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was far less intimidating than the pictures had shown. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear,” Smith said, peering into the carriage and adjusting the glasses on his nose. “Is that you, Flick? This is an odd hour to visit. Well, come on in. I made pigs-in-a-blanket. I forgot the salt again though, so they might not taste that good.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The carriage driver said nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eh? That afraid of my cooking?” The old man let out a wheezy chuckle and prodded ‘Flick’ with his cane. “What a strange boy. Comes all the way to my house and falls asleep in his own carriage. And in this snowstorm, too. Well, can’t leave you here, kiddo. Come on, now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith reached out and wrapped the carriage driver in his arms. His short breaths clouded in the air as he lugged the slumbering carriage driver into his house, leaving streak marks in the snow as Flick’s heels dragged along. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only the slightest sliver of two crimson eyes could be seen in their shadow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With another wheeze and puff, Smith hoisted the sleeping carriage driver up the porch steps and set him down on the couch. A golden fire flickered in the hearth, flanked by a string of hand-made fairy lights. The smell of burnt food slithered from the kitchen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gosh!” Smith cried, pushing the brim of his bucket hat out of his eyes and hurrying towards the kitchen. “I forgot to turn off the stove! That’s the second time this week! Wait here, Flick!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The carriage driver let out an obedient snore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link glowered from the shadows. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was this toddling, senile old man really supposed to be the great Captain Smith? The former head of the Royal Guard, the greatest blacksmith in this era’s Hyrule, the man who had raised the Hero of The Minish? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he had any less investment in his mission, he might have laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, how the mighty had fallen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes it was hard to have the upper hand, considering the limitations of his true form. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet the sands of time had proven again and again to be his most powerful weapon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link crept and slunk between shadows. He pooled in the blackness cast by the burning stove, staring up at the old man through irritated, crimson eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear, they’re all ruined…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith opened the stove and coughed pathetically as he inhaled a plume of smoke. Burnt, curled pieces of charcoal laid on the tray he pulled out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took Dark Link a few seconds to realize that it was supposed to be the food. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes narrowed further. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At first, he had been glad to see how time had morphed this former legend into a decrepit old man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But maybe Smith was too far gone to be useful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smoke continued to gush out of the stove, and Smith continued to lament his ruined dinner. Dark Link slithered up the back of the stove and peered over the top. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh gosh...oh dear….my pigs-in-a-blanket! They’re all burnt! What am I supposed to eat? Link would be so upset with me if he saw this.” Smith tried to pry one of the burnt pastries off the tray, but yelped when it burned his hand. “Thank goodness nothing has caught on fire..” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was at that moment something caught on fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It began as a tiny spark -- as all infernos are wont to do -- and grew into a small cluster of flames burning the floorboards. Smith’s wild gesticulating only fanned it higher, and the fire grew hungrier as it ate up the floorboards. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah! Oh no! Where’s the water bucket?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith continued asking questions to no person in particular as he huffed and puffed around the kitchen. Porcelain dishes and glass trinkets were knocked off shelves as he searched for the elusive water bucket. The flames only grew higher as Smith failed around, accusing every demon he could think of for stealing his water pail. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link hissed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t need a timepiece to know that a tremendous amount of time had been wasted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Might as well be straightforward. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link let his consciousness slip into the billowing smoke. The blackened air twisted around him, shining like silk and reeking of brimstone, a ballgown of burned and broken things. The smoke breathed once, then twice, throbbing with a foreign heartbeat and a foreign disdain.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Enough of this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith froze.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The darkness hardened into the shape of a man, and Dark Link stood at the edge of the stove. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” Smith asked, squinting his eyes and adjusting the glasses at the end of his nose. “Those are some very strange contact lenses you have. Is this a new fashion I don’t know about?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link’s jaw dropped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was this man </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>much of a fool? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t let your mouth hang open that way,” Smith chided. “You’ll get flies in your teeth. Anyway, I’m really glad you turned up. As you can see, my kitchen is on fire.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith gestured to the kitchen, which, indeed, was on fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you take my water pail? I’m not trying to accuse you of stealing, but I’m sure I set it down on the counter and now I can’t find it. Or maybe I put it by the forge....oh dear, I can’t remember. Wait…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The old man crossed his arms and scratched his head. The fire burned politely in the background. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Far away, the bell tower struck seven.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Enough of this foolishness.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith flinched and pulled his bucket hat over his ears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...sorry...I just always forget where I put my things. My grandson always tells me to be more attentive, but sometimes these things just slip my mind and--” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>Enough.” </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith stopped talking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he had lungs, Dark Link would have let out a sigh of relief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a snap of his fingers, he smothered the flames in a blanket of black. The orange glow sputtered and choked under the weight of the darkness, letting out crackly groans and hissed protests as they died away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve had enough of your foolishness,” Dark Link boomed, his red eyes locking with Smith’s own. “You’re coming with me, and--” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, wow!” Smith exclaimed, cutting off Dark Link as he marveled at his not-on-fire kitchen. “You did an amazing job. And with no water pail, either! Have you considered becoming a firefighter? My grandson wanted to be a firefighter when he was younger, did you know that? Anyway, I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you to eat. Maybe we can go to Ruby’s later tonight. We’ll have to take Flick with us. Do you have an extra jacket? My grandson tells me that all my jackets smell like old man, and apparently that isn’t very cool, so--” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link formed a sword from the smoke and pressed the tip to Smith’s jugular. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When I talk, you don’t.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith stilled. His expression hardened, but he said nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have something I do not,” Dark Link continued, his voice so gentle that it barely distured the smoke curled around him. “And I have every intention of taking it from you.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's a wrap for chapter one! This story is going to be a little different from my main longfic -- the chapters will probably be far shorter, and the story will be much more light-hearted, but I really hope you guys will still enjoy it!!!</p><p>If you have any questions or thoughts, please don't be afraid to leave a comment! They truly make my day, and I respond to every comment I get. </p><p>Thank you so much for your time! ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Trouble</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There is more to Smith than first meets the eye.</p><p>The same is true for Dark Link.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"I've been a beggar and I've been a king<br/>I've been a loner and I've worn the ring<br/>Losing myself just to find me again<br/>I'm a million miles smarter, but I ain't learned a thing<br/>I've been a teacher and a student of hurt<br/>I've kept my word for whatever that's worth<br/>Never been last, but I've never been first<br/>Oh I may not be the best, but I'm far from the worst"</p><p>◢ ◤ "Trouble" - Avicii ◢ ◤</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Focus. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link furrowed his eyebrows and turned to the growing void before him. He combed his fingers through the fabric of space and time, grimacing as the dry threads snapped and sparkled under his grip. Timelines and universes slipped between his fingers and dripped from his palm. Flashes of worlds far off into the future and eons into the past effervesced in the spaces between the string. The smoke curling around Dark Link's figure flickered and hissed as a ghostly imitation of sweat dripped off his nose, and the rumble of black magic poisoned the ground he stood on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time traveling was always a bit of a chore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What are you doing?" Smith asked, hobbling forward and leaning on his cane. The coat wrapped around his figure dragged behind and left a trail in the snow, the brim of his bucket hat fell over his eyes, and his glasses dangled precariously from the tip of his nose. A bright purple tote bag hung from the crook of his elbow, haphazardly filled with what Dink assumed to be a miscellaneous assortment of domestic paraphernalia. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, despite the beard and snowy white hair, Smith looked like a lost child. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The old man repeated his question again, creeping forward and peering over his strange companion's shoulder. Dark Link sighed. There was no point in avoiding the question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We're time-traveling," Dark Link finally answered. "Stick close to me. I don’t want you to fall into an alternate timeline or universe and force me to waste my time fetching you out."  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith nodded and toddled forward, then grasped Dark Link's hand. The shadow flinched from the sudden touch and cringed at the creased, wrinkled warmth coming from the old man's grip. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You said stick close," Smith explained. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Dark Link had the energy to glower, he would have, but he had little energy to spare. He turned his attention back to the stringy, pulsating vortex in front of him. Images of other worlds flashed between his fingers, coated in luminous pinks and threatening crimsons, teeming with different tastes and promises and flavors of destiny. A glimpse of a fresh continent covered in green, criss-crossed with train tracks and blessedly free of any troublesome triforce holders, came to life beneath his fingertips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His headquarters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In any other situation, Dark Link would have smiled. It wasn't often that he was able to so easily summon his favorite timeline. He spread his fingers, webbing the threads of time between them and allowing the pinprick of magic before him to blossom into a full blown interdimensional portal.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link stepped forward, wincing when he realized that the old man was still gripping his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Stop touching me," he ordered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith squinted and adjusted his glasses, then tightened his hand around Dark Link's own. "What did you say? You're going to have to speak up if you want me to hear you, young man." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Far away, a bell tower struck eight. Dark Link’s mind grew quiet. If he kept dawdling, this mission would go even further off-schedule than it already was.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link stepped into the portal, dragging the old man behind him. Threads of gold and white and painfully pink neon melded around them, throbbing like swollen veins as the portal accepted Smith and the shadow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tic. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Toc. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tic. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Toc.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link's body grew cold as the world opened up beneath him. His sentience slipped from him and plummeted between the crevices in the tapestry of time. Pictures and promises of places and times far away danced and evaporated around him like migrating butterflies, and a thousand sunsets shone beneath his feet as the portal carried him to another world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith still held his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cacophony of colors and light faded around them as the portal grew more confident in direction. Dark Link's sentience slammed back into his corporeal form, and he landed on his feet when the portal spat him out into a dark alleyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith wasn't as lucky. The old man tumbled out of the portal and fell flat on his stomach, groaning first in pain and then despair as the contents of his purple tote bag came flying out. A cluster of paperclips scattered into the snow, along with a few polished bottlecaps and a small, framed picture. A hand-sized lyre missing at least three of its five strings tumbled out of the bag, along with a pair of house slippers so plush they could make every footstep inaudible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link furrowed his eyebrows and stifled the growing sense of irritation in his bosom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he had given Smith five minutes to pack his most prized possessions, this was not what he had meant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear! My things! They’re everywhere!" Smith cried, scrabbling through the snow with gloved fingers to collect his scattered possessions. He repeated his lament once more, giving Dark Link a sidelong and slightly expectant look as he did. The shadow made no motion to help. An irritation that had earlier sparked in Dark Link’s chest now threatened to grow into flames. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How far gone was this old man, exactly? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Smith slowly and sorrowfully gathered his things, Dark Link took stock of their surroundings. They were in an abandoned, shady alleyway in what appeared to be the quietest corner of Castle Town. Perfect. A glance above revealed a sky full of stars and the towering form of old tenement buildings. An oilskin coat dangled, forgotten and forlorn, from a snapped laundry line. Dark Link took it and wrapped it around his ash-colored form without a second thought. Even though the chances of them meeting anyone else at this hour and in this Hyrule were low, he didn't want to take any chances. The majority of his energy had been drained opening up the portal, and piloting another body would be a dangerous exertion, at least for now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"My pink paperclip..." Smith muttered, "I can't find it anywhere. Can you help me find it?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No. Hurry up or I'm going to leave you behind." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith whined. Dark Link glared at the old man and buttoned up his borrowed coat, lowering the hood over the bridge of his nose before exiting the alleyway. Behind him came a few sputters of protest, the crunch of boots on snow, and the click of a cane on stone. Smith hurried to Dark Link's side, and the shadow walked on without giving the shivering old man another glance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A new and different Castle Town bloomed before them. This one was smaller, more spacious, mysteriously clean and strangely empty. Velvet and crimson flags fluttered on the nighttime breeze, and only the faintest whispers of revelry could be heard from far-off taverns and shuttered apartments. Footprints debossed into the snow glittered blue and silver under the moonlight. The acidic taste of coal and steel wafted in from the east. Dark Link and Smith walked along, the former hurrying along with clean, clipped steps, the latter sauntering with wide eyes and wordless awe. Pies set out on the windowsill let out puffs of steam from their vents. Orderly tracks through snow piled on the street were the only memory of carriages that had passed through in the pre-sunset rush hour. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Dark Link felt like the only person awake in the entire world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn't a bad feeling, but it wasn't a good one either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A discontent brewed in his chest. Dark Link pushed it away. His eyes drifted up from the floor, flickered over Smith's hunched figure, and drifted up towards the sky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And there, backlighted by the milky disk of the moon and flanked by a legion of stars, stood the Tower of Spirits. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link's lips flickered upwards into a smile. He swallowed it before it could distract him from the winding roads of Castle Town or the long list of things he still had to do to that day, chastising himself for being happy over something as simple as having things go to plan. His standards were getting too low.   </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pointed to the tower and waited for Smith's eyes to follow his finger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We are going there," Dark Link explained. "That is where I live, and that is where you'll be staying. Follow, and don't get lost." He nearly added a "stay close to me" as an afterthought, but cast the idea away when he remembered how the old fool had interpreted the warning earlier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a nod and a smile, Smith obeyed. The old man trailed a few steps behind the shadow, marveling at the new and unfamiliar world gleaming and twisting around him. Building by building and cobblestone by cobblestone, Castle Town faded behind them. Dark Link pressed on further, heading quickly down a path he traversed almost daily, only sparing the occasional moment to look back at Smith and ensure the old man hadn't fallen into a ditch.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something very strange about this decayed, doddering, diddering old man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Much to Dark Link’s frustration, he couldn't quite articulate what felt off. There seemed to be an air of vacancy around Smith, an emptiness both mental and physical that Dark Link had rarely come in contact with. The old man hadn't asked a single question so far -- at least, not the important kind. There were no minced, calculated words, mistrustful side glances, muttered curses or hushed threats. Rather, he walked by Dark Link's side with a smile on his face and a skip in his step. Dark Link walked faster, his mind sprinting at a thousand paces a second. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frankly, he might have been over analyzing things. He had a tendency to do that. Perhaps the passage of time had decayed Smith’s mind just as much as his body. It would make sense. Or maybe the man was too old to even realize he was in danger. It would explain the strange warmth he so freely displayed to Dark Link. Or maybe the man was simply too old to even know what a question was.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, sir," Smith said, "I had a question.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dink grimaced. Jumping to conclusions and getting cocky -- it seemed like a fatal flaw he shared with a lot of other unsavory figures.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith repeated his statement, and Dark Link cast him a quick look in substitution for a verbal go-ahead. He would have to be careful about how he responded to Smith's question -- after all, the old man's senility could be a facade, and he didn't want to take any chances. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you think they sell mint lemonade here?”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link's eyes narrowed. Smith continued. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I really like mint lemonade. Do you like it, too?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took only a second for Dark Link to decide the question wasn’t worth answering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snow crunched as the two walked forward. A train station came into view, glistening with frost and vibrating the tranquility that followed on sunset's heels, and the shadow smiled vaguely to himself. Ten minutes ahead of schedule. This was very good. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re a lot like my grandson, you know,” Smith continued. “You’re so quiet. Just like him. I wonder what kind of conversations you two would have? I’ll make you some mint lemonade sometime. I think you’ll like it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A train wheezed into the station. Still ignoring Smith's constant chatter, Dark Link boarded and gestured for the old man to do the same. In the distance, the moon backlit the spire of the Tower of Spirits, a strange, inky silhouette that thrummed with the promise of home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm telling you," Smith continued, "mint lemonade is great." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Be quiet," Dark Link snapped. The ire in his voice faded when Smith flinched, and the shadow reprimanded himself for letting anger get the best of him. Dark Linked tried not to sigh. This kind of impulsivity would become his greatest vulnerability if he didn’t learn to better control himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Metal creaked as Dark Link and Smith boarded the train. An almond-eyed, dark-skinned conductor sat at the front, leathery skin pulled taut over muscles that had probably spent more time laboring in a field than working with gears and machinery. Aside from the conductor, the train was completely empty, save for a smattering of bags and blankets that had been left behind by previous occupants. Dark Link was still too tired to spare the energy to pilot the conductor's body, and he certainly didn't have the presence or patience to start a fight, so he handed over two blue rupees and announced his desired destination as the Tower of Spirits. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's a bit late to go sight-seeing," the conductor said, watching with vague disinterest as Smith hobbled by and took a seat by a frosted window. "It's cold out, and aside from those dusty old monuments to the Hero of the Winds and the Hero of Spirits, there isn't much to see. Are you sure your old man is up for something like this? " </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith smiled. Dark Link opened his mouth to protest, but Smith beat him to it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You see," Smith began, smiling sweetly at the conductor, "my son here is the adventurous type. I just wanted to tag along with him...I don’t get a lot of chances to feel young, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snowflakes clustered against the corners of the train windows. A cool wind rattled outside. Smith pulled the brim of his oversized bucket hat up to his forehead and gave the conductor a sickeningly precious grin. The conductor chortled to himself, muttering something about having his faith in Hylian-kind restored, and shooed Dark Link away from the front of the train. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Pretty slick, huh?" Smith whispered, tugging eagerly at the cuff of Dark Link's coat. His eyes shone with childish glee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do not call me your son again," Dark Link said, voice smooth and sharp as obsidian. "I am the child of no one and nothing. You don't own me." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith's eyebrows creased in confusion as Dark Link walked past him and took a seat at the back of the train. The shadow leaned his forehead against the window glass. His eyes glazed over his surroundings, criticizing the train's greyish upholstery and brown interior paint. Whoever had been in charge of design clearly had no understanding of color theory -- who in their right mind put brown with grey? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a gasp and rasp, the train took off. It bumbled genially down the tracks, clicking along metal rails and letting silver sheets of coal smoke billow into the air. Dark Link spared a glance at Smith, who had stayed in his seat at the front of the train. He looked like he was seconds away from falling asleep. There was no doubt that this was the old man's first time on a train -- they hadn't been invented in his time, as far as Dark Link was aware -- and yet Smith dozed off anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What a strange old man. If Dark Link had thought him to be deteriorated earlier, then all a closer inspection had revealed was that Smith teetered on the verge of crumbling away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This could either be very good or very bad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link rested his head against the train window, trying to cool the searing-hot chatter in his head. His smoky skin didn't recoil from the glass. His eyes didn't water from the cold. He ran a finger through the condensation left behind by his breath -- breaths that he had to draw in manually, breaths that he had scheduled and calculated, breaths that he sucked awkwardly through his teeth and let burn the inky insides of his lungs for the sake of seeing his chest rise and fall just like any other living being...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Inhale.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Count to three.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Exhale. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Inhale. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Count to three.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Exhale. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt like a machine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A familiar knot twisted and turned in his stomach. Memories from millenia past flitted through his mind, of black blades meeting white, of shadows and light, of tiny, newborn souls encased in ice. Of tiny, silver rings, of things he could have been...the world blurred by as the train bumbled and hissed over the tracks, and Dark Link's determination returned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His vision sharpened and his breath quickened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This. All of this. It needed to be done. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ticking of a clock beckoned Dark Link out of the geometrical labyrinth of his thoughts. He sucked in another breath and glanced at the small clock mounted just above the conductor's head. Thirty minutes ahead of schedule. Very good. He might be able to get some reading in before bed, then, and possibly even---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you don’t want me to make you any mint lemonade?”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link squeaked in surprise. Smith sat next to him, his stupid bucket hat flopping downward to cover his eyes as his glasses sat askew at the tip of his nose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shadow let out a long breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn't even heard Smith approach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gotcha!" Smith teased. "Don’t feel bad about not hearing me, though. I was wearing my sneaky shoes.”  The old man gestured to his feet, which were presently swaddled in the same pair of house slippers he had dropped in the snow earlier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't sit next to me," Dark Link snapped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What's that you said?" Smith asked, cupping a hand around his ear and leaning forward. "You're going to have to speak up -- my hearing isn't what it used to be." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link glared. "Don't sit next to me," he repeated, his voice obligingly louder and harsher. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Alright! If you insist," Smith said as he sat down by Dark Link's side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hot feeling prickled underneath Dark Link's fingernails, and he clenched his fist until the bloody impulses faded away. Perhaps a lesser man -- Ganondorf or Zant, maybe -- would have lashed out at this infuriating, octogenarian fool, but not him. He was better than that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Leather creaked as Smith fidgeted in his seat and pulled up the brim of his bucket hat. Moonlight poured through the window and left ivory stains on the floor, and the rumbling of the train complemented Smith's low, friendly chatter. “So, where are we going? It’s a bit dark outside. I’m not sure we’ll be able to sightsee very well. Do you have any gloves? The tips of my fingers feel like they’re going to freeze off. I should have brought a thicker pair. Also, do you know when you’ll be dropping me back at home? I don’t want to miss karaoke night at Ruby's. I’m very good at karaoke, you know." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith blabbered on. The fist in Dark Link's lap grew tighter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tried to convince himself that this was a good thing. The old man seemed to think they were friends or, least, close enough to carry on this mindless chatter. However misplaced the old man's trust might have been, it would make his job far easier, if not a bit time-consuming.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever been on a train before?” Dark Link asked, his words more of a breathy afterthought than anything else. Smith's chattering stopped as the old man paused to consider the question, then shook his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't think I have. What's a train?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link shook his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You really are a senile old fool, aren't you?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Pardon? I didn't catch what you said." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link stood up and let his coat drape dramatically over his figure. Vibrations rattled through the train. A thousand cellos wailed underneath the tracks as the train screeched to a halt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before them stood the Tower of Spirits, dripping with obsidian and edged in the moon's platinum light. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link let out a happy sigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is this your apartment?" Smith asked.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Take your things and stand outside," Dark Link commanded. "I’ll be there in a moment.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cloth slippers scuffed the floor as Smith gathered his things into his tote bag and disembarked. Dark Link glided up to the front of the train once Smith was gone, casting a quick glance at the conductor as he did. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your old man is very sweet," the conductor said, clearly happy to finally have Dark Link's attention. "Take good care of him, lad. You don’t know how much longer he has on this earth.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s not my father.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be ungrateful. Just because he’s old and sick now doesn’t mean you should pretend he’s nothing more than a stranger.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link's fist grew tighter, but he did nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Breath in. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Breath out. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Control yourself. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He disembarked without another word, silently congratulating himself as he did so. It was a small victory -- a microscopic one, really -- but tiny victories were always the predecessor to greater ones. At least, this is what Dark Link told himself as he disembarked and caught up with Smith. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It looks like you have a really nice place!" Smith said, gesturing to the tower before them. "If you have any lemon, or mint, or ice, or, well, it’s best that you have all three, I can make you some mint lemonade.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link wanted to roll his eyes, but didn't. It was too childish of a gesture. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Come with me," the shadow commanded. The wind whipped the stolen coat around his thin form. "And do not hold my hand." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith obeyed, following so close behind Dink that he nearly stepped on the other's heels. The high, proud archway to the Tower of Spirits loomed overhead. Dark Link ducked his head in reverence to deities he did not know as he entered the forlorn cathedral. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith did the same.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is a certain sense of anticipation that comes with the changing of a tide, the cry of a newborn, and the sigh of a book opened for the first time. It is a prickle of premonition, a suspicion of serendipity, a ticking of a grand, far-away clock that counts down to a thing unfathomable. Something is expected, but whatever it is has no name. A thousand threads of fate come together to create a harp, yet only a single note is played, and that note has no sound. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sands of change stir silently, slowly, and long before anything else does. It cannot be measured, calculated, or quantified, and those most affected by it are the ones most ignorant to its movement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And yet, as Smith entered the Tower of Spirits, he felt the heartbeat of change vibrate beneath his feet. </span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There we go! I hope you enjoyed! My goal is to have this story finished by January 4th, but we'll see how that goes. If you enjoyed, please don't be afraid to drop a kudos or leave a comment! I respond to all the comments I get, and I truly appreciate each and every kudos. </p><p>Have a wonderful day! Please take care of yourselves, and happy December-adjacent holidays to you all!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Somewhere in Stockholm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A new era begins for an entity as old as time.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm from a place where we never openly show our emotions<br/>We drown our sorrows in bottomless bottles<br/>And leave them to float in the ocean<br/>I'm from a place where we never<br/>Separate people from people<br/>Some generalize, but in general I<br/>Still believe that we are treated as equals </p><p>◢ ◤ "Somewhere in Stockholm" - Avicii ◢ ◤</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dark Link loved the Tower of Spirits. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps it was the mysterious elegance that glinted off the mother-of-pearl tiles, or the tranquil hum of sleeping deities engraven into the walls, or the twinkling of a lute so distant it seemed like it came from another dimension. Perhaps Dark Link’s fondness for the old tower was a byproduct of the familiar clatter of phantom armor above, or the clean, polished staircase, or the way the moonlight spilled through the windows and left little blossoms of light on the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or perhaps it was the way that the Tower of Spirits, an edifice almost as old as Dark Link himself, seemed to understand him.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Things of antiquity had a way of gravitating towards each other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark said nothing as he ascended the tower’s staircase, smiling sadly as the moonlight washed over his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a shame that he wouldn't be living here for much longer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith followed close behind him, plush slippers squeaking against the stair tile. His cane clicked and his tote bag thumped softly at his side as he hurried after Dark Link. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have such a beautiful house," Smith began, his voice strangely hushed and reverent. "Do you have a karaoke room?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link's eyes narrowed, and his lower lip slid downward in confusion. He didn't bother to turn around. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why on earth do you think I would have a karaoke room?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith's scoffing echoed off the walls of the tower. “Well, what else would you do all day?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have a job.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Interesting! Okay, let me guess, you’re…uh…a laundromat? No, wait. Um, caterer? For parties and weddings, you know?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link pulled his coat tighter around himself and ascended the steps with irritated urgency. Smith trailed after him, eyes wide and curious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No? None of those? Okay let me think...you're very grumpy. Are you a banker? No? A lawyer, maybe? Not that either? Uh...maye some sort of politician with a scandalous past so public and shameful that it forced you to live in this quiet old tower to avoid constant questioning from the Hylian people?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last suggestion made Dark Link's nose screw up with confusion and disgust. Hylians and their strange obsession with scandals and gossip... </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"My occupation is none of your business," Dark Link began. His words were barely audible over the deafening silence of the tower. "All you need to know is that--" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I got it! You’re a blacksmith too, just like me and my late son and my grandson! That’s why your skin is so ashy and your eyes are so red -- you just haven’t been taking care of yourself after working in the forge! Poor boy. Don’t overwork yourself! Breaks are important, you know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Breaks and vacations are for fools. If you want anything to get done, make a strict routine and get on with it right away." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes, of course, but breaks should be part of that routine, and--” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Stop talking. You're wrong." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tower was blessedly silent as Smith flushed and closed his mouth. Footsteps echoed on tile as the two sojourners reached the first floor, and Smith marveled at the ancient mahogany doors that stood before them. Moonlight shone like diamonds off the hazel-colored lacquer. A dozen tales and stories were engraved into the door's wood: a small boy carrying a sword, a princess, a pig-like demon...and something else that Smith had to squint to see low light. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link knocked quietly on the doors before them. There was a hushed, inaudible exchange between Dark Link and a nameless entity that stood just beyond the entryway, and, after said exchange ended on a vaguely positive note, the doors slid open on well-oiled hinges. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A phantom guard greeted them, sword and shield held obediently in either hand and head bowed in ritualistic respect to Dark Link. The shadow said nothing as he passed the guard by. Smith lagged behind, trying (and failing) to start a conversation with the guard, only returning to hurry after Dark Link when the latter had nearly disappeared down the darkened corridor. Wall-mounted lanterns left sickly circles of yellow light on the walls, and a dry carpet crackled beneath their feet. Far away, the marching of innumerable guards could be heard, complimented only by the intermittent growling of monsters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The corridor before them grew darker and grimmer. Something snarled in the distance. A cobweb glistened in the lamplight -- Dark Link wrinkled his nose in disgust and made a mental note to have one of the phantoms clean it later -- and the floor creaked quietly beneath them. The velvet carpet underfoot eventually turned to hardwood, then stone. No more moonlight shone through the windows. Only the occasional tap of Smith's cane on the floor signified that the octogenarian blacksmith was still behind him. Of course, Dark Link wouldn't have had to turn around to know. He could feel the tremors vibrating through Smith's shadow and the apprehension dripping off the threads of the man's coat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Smith's turn to be silent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Intrigued by Smith's sudden secession of senseless speech, Dark Link cast a glance behind him. Smith's grip on his cane was tighter before. His lips were red and peeled from biting on them. Lamplight reflected off his eyes like the glowing wings of dying fairies, and he held his tote bag close to his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith wasn't smiling anymore.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We're almost there," Dark Link said, eyes trained on Smith. The old man nodded idly but said nothing in response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link's gaze grew distant, analytical, and vaguely gleeful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith finally looked afraid. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>... </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wonderful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A small, dingy room came into view, windowless and grim as a jail cell and barred in the same fashion as one. Keys clicked against their lock as Dark Link opened the door. A heartbeat of anticipation buzzed beneath the floor as the door swung open, metal squealing on metal as it did. The stench of ammonia, soap, and sundried linens skittered from the crack between the door and its frame.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"This is where you'll be staying," Dark Link said. A lopsided, manufactured grin sat like spilled ink on his face. "You'd best enter before I lose my patience." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith grimaced. Whether it was from the sight before him or from Dark Link's smile, the shadow couldn't tell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A clock ticked thrice on the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith held his cane tighter to his chest, pulled the brim of his bucket hat up over his eyes, and stepped into the cell. Dark Link snapped his fingers. Wall-mounted lanterns within the room flickered and twisted to life, their flames poisoned with an ominous purple. Smith squinted his eyes, trying to blink away the sudden glare from his glasses, and let out a surprised exhale when the room came into view. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was surprisingly...cozy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand-sized pail of water sat in one corner of the room, flanked by a bar of soap and small hog-hair comb. A few bluish bottles stood at attention beside the toiletries -- judging off the cartoonish labels and bright red cork stoppers, they were some sort of off-brand cologne. Right above the corner and mounted on the wall sat a thick square of steel, apparently some sort of shatterproof substitute for a mirror. It reflected a vague, warped image of the scene before it: Smith's bright, curious eyes, Dark Link's slim figure, the twisting corridor behind him and the slightest slivers of far-off moonlight. At the other end of the room sat a mattress with no bed frame and no covers. A beanbag chair sagged by its side. Smith propped his cane and tote bag against the wall and cautiously explored further. A few paintings hung above the bed, complimented by a stack of magazines, papers and pencils sitting on an upturned box by the door.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is this place all for me?" Smith asked. The tremor in his voice was gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link nodded.  “Yes. The better you behave, the more luxuries you’ll be allowed to have in your cell.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is this a game?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Coming from any other mouth, those words might have been spoken with bitterness or dry ire, but they rolled off like flowers from Smith's tongue. It was a true, genuine question, with no prickly intent or poorly-hidden aggression behind it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can think of it as such," Dark Link responded, watching quietly as Smith wandered around the room.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were no pillows, no table, no windows and no ventilation, yet the emptiness of the room was strangely offset by a small shadow lurking by the mattress. Smith walked forward, pushing his glasses up so he could get a better view, and left out a soft 'oh' of delight as the vision crystalized before him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In a tiny, ceramic pot bloomed a singular tulip, flanked by fingernail-sized dandelions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s your name, anyway?” Smith asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pause. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then an answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The demons call me Dark Link.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith nodded, taking a seat on the mattress and placing the flower pot in his lap. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That’s great, but what do you call yourself?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pause. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No answer came. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There are weeds in that flower pot," Dark Link finally said, pointing to the dandelions. "The phantom guards should have picked them out. I'll punish them for forgetting. Bring it to me. I'll pick them out myself." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith's eyes widened. He wrapped his arms around the flowerpot and held it close to his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you talking about the dandelions?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes. If that's what you call them. They're nothing more than weeds -- lecherous things that grow where they're not wanted, too weak to even fend for themselves. Bring it here." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pause. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then a refusal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No need for that," Smith whispered. "I think they're beautiful." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link's eyes narrowed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"They're weeds." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. And they’re still beautiful.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pause. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link knew how to pick his battles. This one was not worth fighting. If the fool wanted to keep his pot of weeds, then he could. He would come to regret it when the dandelions choked the little tulip to death. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No matter. It was none of his business.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're a stupid old fool," Dark Link muttered. His stolen coat fluttered behind him as he turned to go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith smiled. The glasses on his nose tilted, offset by the happy crinkling of his face, and he watched silently as Dark Link disappeared down the corridor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He fell asleep with the flower pot in his arms. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you all enjoyed! I know that this chapter was shorter than most, but I hope it was still worth your time. If you have any questions, comments, or conundrums, feel free to drop a comment down below! I respond to every comment I get. And if you enjoyed, please don't be afraid to leave a kudos! Of course, you're never obligated to leave either -- I just hope that this little story was able to put a smile on your face today! ❤️❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Can't Catch Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There's a painting in Smith's cell.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You can't catch me<br/>I'll be gone by the time they come<br/>You can't catch me<br/>The war is already won<br/>Even though the children have sold their guns<br/>We must remember the fallen ones </p><p>◢ ◤ "Can't Catch Me" - Avicii ◢ ◤</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes Dark Link wondered why he owned a bedroom. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn't because he didn't know why and certainly not because didn't believe in his reason for having one, but a bedroom always seemed like too much space wasted for a habit that was little more than a vanity. His "sleeping" consisted of nothing more than him lying awake in bed for seven hours every night -- ten at night to five in the morning each night without fail -- and twiddling his thumbs until the sun came up. Of course, he enjoyed it. It wouldn't have been such a revered and important part of his routine if he didn't.  </p><p> </p><p>The dawn of a new day washed over New Hyrule, and Dark Link reminded himself of these things.</p><p> </p><p>With the same empty vanity he employed when "sleeping" or "brushing his hair," Dark Link washed his face and put on a fresh set of clothes. These things were useless, too. In reality, he could shape his hair to be whatever he wished, and a body made of smoke and evil couldn't grow dirty. Yet, as he "woke up" that morning and went through his routine, a warmth spread through him. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps his routine was frivolous now, but it wouldn’t be in the future. </p><p> </p><p>After all, it was always good to practice. </p><p> </p><p>He grabbed a jacket and a few apartment catalogues before walking outside, making sure to lock his bedroom door before he left. The heels of his boots clicked on the tile as he ascended the Tower of Spirits. The first few rays of sunlight filtered through the windows above. His eyebrows furrowed when he realized he was alone, and his eyes flickered to the timepiece on his wrist. </p><p> </p><p>5:05am. </p><p> </p><p>He was running late, and so was the guard. </p><p> </p><p>Echoes rebounded off hazel-colored walls as Dark Link leaned over the railway and snapped his fingers. </p><p> </p><p>"Guard!" </p><p> </p><p>A handful of phantom guards scurried out from nooks in the tower's base floor. Dark Link glared and said nothing, watching blankly as the guards glanced anxiously at each other. Only a heartbeat passed before the smallest guard was nominated to assist Dark Link, and the shadow turned back to the stairs before he could slide off-schedule. </p><p> </p><p>It took him only a moment to scale the rest of the stairs and reach the top level of the tower. Sunlight washed over him as he entered the tower's turret, a balcony overseeing all of New Hyrule that still smelled faintly of a battle fought long ago. Hyrule Castle pressed against the horizon. Birds flitted freely through the air, stupid creatures that Dark Link found himself strangely envious of, and the sky pulsated with rose gold and cotton-candy clouds. </p><p> </p><p>5:07am. </p><p> </p><p>The guard was late. </p><p> </p><p>One more manual heartbeat later, and the phantom guard finally arrived. It carried a lounge chair in one hand and a glass of milk in the other, muttering senseless apologies as it scurried to Dark Link’s side.</p><p> </p><p>"Put it there," Dark Link ordered as he reclined on the lounge chair and opened up one of the apartment catalogues he had brought with him. "And tell your co-workers that they're not invited to breakfast today. If they can't remember the routine, they don't get to be a part of it." </p><p> </p><p>The phantom nodded anxiously, handing Dark Link the cup of milk before retreating into the tower. Dark Link swirled the glass before bringing it to his lips, smiling faintly at the way the milk frosted his upper lip. Eating and drinking -- another one of his favorite vanities. A shadow being had no need for organic sustenance, of course, but Dark Link enjoyed it anyway. </p><p> </p><p>And even if it felt a bit like a waste of time, at least it was practice. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link sipped on his drink and flipped through his catalogue. Clouds floated lazily across the sky. Far away, trains woke up and released their coal-stained exhales into the air. The shadow criticized the strange pictures and odd architecture on the glossy pages before him. This must have been one of the newer magazines, based off of the strange color palettes and abstract furniture featured on each page. Page 140 depicted a room with bright pink walls with beige accents beside glass furniture and a neon blue carpet. Dark Link wrinkled his nose. It was almost as if the room itself knew it was an eyesore. He flipped to the next page, immediately skipping it when he saw an article explaining the metaphysical beauty of accent walls (he had never understood the trend, to be honest), and filtered through the magazine until he found something vaguely interesting. Ah, a color wheel featuring cool greys and tranquil blues. Dark Link skimmed the article adjacent to it, only picking up the words "cool colors are arguably the best and most versatile for interior design" before immediately agreeing. </p><p> </p><p>He wouldn't be caught dead with an apartment with walls any color other than a modest grey. </p><p> </p><p>His focus flickered beneath him, and Dark Link cast a glance to his watch. </p><p> </p><p>5:25am.   </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Goddesses above and demons below.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Five minutes to breakfast, and he hadn’t even begun cooking. </p><p> </p><p>This day was already getting off to a bad start. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link folded the lounge chair and placed his things on top, then snapped his fingers to summon a guard to clean it. One had barely appeared through the doorway before Dark Link darted back into the tower. The roof door slammed shut behind him as he hurried down the stairs. A few guards passed him on the way down -- most likely the same ones from earlier if the irritated look in their eye meant anything. Dark Link rolled his eyes as he entered the third floor and sprinted elegantly to the makeshift kitchen. </p><p> </p><p>If the guards wanted breakfast, they should have behaved. </p><p> </p><p>Frankly, they should be glad that he hadn't taken more serious measures. More than one of his subordinates had been..."permanently retired" for falling too far off schedule. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link opened a drawer and pulled out the pre-organized cooking utensils and the pre-measured ingredients. With a flick of his wrist, the stove came to life with purple fire, and Dark Link set about making pancakes. As he went through the familiar motions, familiar thoughts went through his mind. It was a good thing that none of the miniblins or phantoms had complained about having the same thing for breakfast every day. Of course, even if they had, Dark Link wouldn't have done anything different, but peace was always preferred. He had no intention of hiring a cook -- after all, the phantom's inability to put out a fire and the miniblin's affinity for rancid food made neither party likely candidates, and even though only the miniblins needed to eat, the routine was too familiar to be removed without considerable fallout. He slid the last pancake off the pan and wiped his hands on a greyish towel, then turned to the empty hallway. </p><p> </p><p>"Breakfast!" Dark Link shouted, placing a hand over his mouth to amplify the noise.  </p><p> </p><p>Every corridor and passageway of the Tower of Spirits came alive with the sound of thundering feet. Innumerable miniblins and bulblins and phantom guards poured into the kitchen, taking up residence at whichever seats were still available. Dark Link kept his eyes trained on the doorway, waiting for latecomers with crossed arms and furrowed eyebrows. A trio of miniblins -- the same ones that had been late yesterday, what was their problem? -- stumbled into the kitchen. Their giggling and snorting stopped when all eyes fell on them. </p><p> </p><p>"You three," Dark Link began, his voice soft as velvet, "are going to pass out breakfast to everyone here. This is your second strike. Do not be late again." </p><p> </p><p>The miniblins nodded, obviously relieved that it was their second strike and not their third, and busied themselves with passing out breakfast. After chaperoning for a few more minutes, Dark Link left the kitchen and descended the tower. He handed off a list of instructions to one of the senior guards, telling it to meet him on the first floor by 6:00 am sharp, and returned to his bedroom. A pair of ironed slacks and a steam-pressed shirt were draped over his bed's footboard, accentuated by a small red tie placed on top. Dark Link changed quickly, running a hand through his hair as he buttoned up his shirt and fastened the tie, marveling at the futuristic style and cut of the cloth. </p><p> </p><p>It was, by far, the most boring outfit he had in his wardrobe. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link smoothed out the wrinkles in his slacks and smiled faintly. </p><p> </p><p>That’s why he loved it. </p><p> </p><p>He grabbed his clipboard from his desk and slipped a few pens into his front pocket before hurrying off to the first floor. The same guard from earlier intercepted him, carrying a foldable table and set of chairs as instructed, and followed exactly six paces behind Dark Link as they walked down the corridor. Armor clinked on armor and Dark Link's tie swished against his shirt. The carpet turned to stone, and the air grew cold. </p><p> </p><p>They were almost there. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link glanced at his watch. </p><p> </p><p>5:55 am. </p><p> </p><p>He would have to set everything up in five minutes, then. </p><p> </p><p>The shadow and the guard approached the cell at the far end of the hallway, and Dark Link unlocked the door. It swiveled open. The phantom guard readjusted its grip on the table and chairs, and Dark Link poised his fist to knock upon the half-opened door. </p><p> </p><p>There was no need. Smith was already awake, his atrocious bucket hat placed to the side and oversized coat wrapped around him like a blanket. He sat on the edge of his mattress, eyes fixated upon a painting hung on the wall. Dark Link recoiled when the scene came into better view. </p><p> </p><p>The painting was amateurish in concept, shape, and form. It depicted a living room with cool grey walls, glistening with domesticity as a pair of twins slumbered before a fireplace. A puppy laid happily in the space between them. In a slightly tilted, disproportionate rocking chair sat a tall figure that could only be assumed to be their father. A pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, and he smiled happily at the scene before him. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link looked away. </p><p> </p><p>Cringing under the tension in the air, the phantom guard silently unfolded the table and set two chairs on either end. Dark Link placed a plate of pancakes and a cup of mint lemonade on the table end closest to Smith. </p><p> </p><p>The old man didn't turn around. </p><p> </p><p>"This is a very beautiful painting," Smith said at last.  </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link took a seat at the opposite end of the table and shooed the phantom guard away, not bothering to verbalize his disagreement. He crossed his leg and procured his clipboard. </p><p> </p><p>"Take a seat. We have a lot to discuss while you eat your breakfast.” </p><p> </p><p>Smith's focus snapped from the painting to Dark Link. His eyes widened when he caught sight of the food laid before him. The painting forgotten, Smith hurried over to the table and sat down with so much enthusiasm Dark Link wondered if the old man's joints would snap. </p><p> </p><p>With baited breath and a face luminescent with joy, Smith ran his finger along the rim of the mint lemonade cup. He turned to look at Dark Link with sparkling eyes. </p><p> </p><p>"Mint lemonade! My word, did you make this just for me?"</p><p> </p><p>Dark Link nodded, face expressionless as he analyzed the way more wrinkles appeared on Smith's face every time the old man smiled. "Yes. Go ahead and enjoy."</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you so much," Smith said, bringing the cup to his lips and sipping on it gingerly. "You're wonderful." </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link waved a hand in the air as if dismissing the compliment. "I'm going to be asking you some questions -- just some friendly chit-chat. If you're cooperative with me, you'll get a reward." </p><p> </p><p>"Reward?" </p><p> </p><p>"We’ll talk more about it at the end. Now, tell me a little bit about your grandson.” </p><p> </p><p>Blue eyes sparkled with joy, and Smith wriggled with excitement the same way a child invited to talk about their favorite thing would. His words came out staccato, interrupted by his intermittent sips of lemonade and occasional bites of pancake. </p><p> </p><p>"My grandson...well, he’s a wonderful lad. He’s out on another adventure right now, but he makes sure to write home. He hasn’t responded to my last few letters, though. Or maybe he hasn’t gotten them. But I send a few every day, so I think that might explain why I haven’t gotten a response from him recently. I hope he’s doing well. I can’t wait to meet the men he’s traveling with." </p><p> </p><p>As a formality, Dark Link feigned the motion of writing something down on his clipboard, then gestured for Smith to continue.</p><p> </p><p>He knew all of this already.</p><p> </p><p>"Link doesn’t spend a lot of time with boys his age, so I’m hoping that this adventure will do him some good. Maybe he’ll make some good pals, too. I won’t be around for long, you know, and I would do anything to leave this world knowing that he has friends at his side.” </p><p> </p><p>With emotion vague enough to communicate sympathy but not clear enough to require it, Dark Link nodded. “He doesn’t have a lot of friends? I can’t imagine why -- he sounds like an amicable lad.” </p><p> </p><p>Smith wiped away a scrim of mint lemonade from his upper lip, eyes dark with thoughtfulness. "That’s a question I ask myself all the time. I wish I knew. Maybe he has some sort of fear of…” </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link leaned in. </p><p> </p><p>“...well, I don't know," Smith muttered dejectedly. "I’m not a psychologist. I’m not sure what he’s afraid of -- or even <em> if </em> he’s afraid of something. Maybe he just likes to keep to himself.” </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link shouldn't have been upset. He had come in with no expectations for sensitive information to be revealed, and he didn't give himself the luxury of hoping it would be.</p><p> </p><p>The shadow nodded again, but the motion was slightly less believable. </p><p> </p><p>An hour slogged by, and the rest of the interrogation passed slowly. Smith made slow work of his breakfast, went on multiple tangents, forgot who he was and where he was a couple of times, and fell asleep an hour and a half before their meeting was supposed to end. Spittle dribbled into a snow white beard as the old man snored, pale skin spotted with veins and eyes flickering feverishly under his eyelids. Dark Link sighed and looked at his clipboard. A legion of tiny, perfectly proportioned letters stared back at him. Perhaps he shouldn't have wasted his time transcribing the exchange -- just as expected, this first session had turned out to be more of a confirmation of information he already knew -- but he reminded himself of the importance of taking every precaution possible. </p><p> </p><p>He was too close to success to make a single mistake. </p><p> </p><p>His focus drifted back to the sleeping old man, and Dark Link decided that there was no point in lurking any longer. If Smith felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in his presence, the session had been successful to some degree. Trust was good, however misplaced it may be. </p><p> </p><p>The shadow fiddled with his tie. Hopefully this mission would only run for as long as he had scheduled it to be. Of course, he hadn't taken into account the confusing situation of Smith's apparent senility, but it seemed like that might occasionally work in his favor. He would have to be careful regardless, though. </p><p> </p><p>Fabric rustled as Dark Link stood up to go. He tucked his clipboard under his arm and snapped his fingers, instructing a nearby phantom guard to put away the tables, chairs, and plates. As the guard got to work, Dark Link nudged Smith's shoulder with the tip of his pen and instructed the half-asleep old man to continue his nap on his bed. Too sleepy to put up an argument, the old man did as instructed. Dark Link watched expressionlessly as Smith curled up on the mattress and wrapped himself in his jacket. A pair of blue eyes peered at him from behind the blanket as Dark Link made his way to the door. </p><p> </p><p>"Where are you going?" Smith asked. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link waited for the phantom guard to remove the last chair from the room, then turned to Smith. “To work. I’ll be back at five o'clock sharp. If the guards tell me that you behaved while I was gone, I’ll bring something nice back for you.”  </p><p> </p><p>Smith glanced at the painting on the wall, then muttered something that sounded like a mishmash of "good luck" and "see you later." </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link closed the door behind him. </p><p> </p><p>He would need to remember to remove that painting as soon as possible. <br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And there we go! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter -- it was a pleasure to write Dark Link's morning routine, and I hope it wasn't too monotonous to read! If you have any questions, conundrums, or thoughts, please don't be afraid to leave a comment. And if you're enjoying the story so far and would like to leave a kudos, that's also greatly appreciated! But as always, you're never obligated to do either -- as long as you're enjoying the story, I'm happy!! </p><p>Sending warm wishes to you all! Please stay safe and have a wonderful day ❤️❤️❤️❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Sunset Jesus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Smith is worried, but not for himself.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>California, don't let me down<br/>Seems so golden, but there's struggle all around<br/>Sunset Jesus, came to me<br/>He once was a waiter <br/>Now he's a savior <br/>Making money on the street </p>
<p>◢ ◤ "Sunset Jesus" - Avicii ◢ ◤</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Smith rested his head against the cell wall and listened to Dark Link's receding footsteps. Dress shoes clicked on indigo stone at a now-familiar sense of urgency, forcing old memories of uncomfortable stockholder meetings and awkward afternoons at Hyrule Castle to the front of Smith’s mind. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to block out the memories of all the little troubles that still awaited him back at home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was a word he was trying not to think about too much. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dark Link's footsteps faded down the corridor. Armor clinked as phantom guards patrolled outside. The sleepiness that had overcome him earlier was chased out by the chill. Smith stood up with a grunt, cringing first when his joints popped loudly, again when he shivered from the cold, and once more when he took in the room around him.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was only now that he realized how much the silent, windowless room looked like a jail cell. Weak lantern light cast a sickly yellow haze over the furniture before him -- the small bed, a bean bag chair, and an organized stack of papers, magazines, and pens sitting on an upturned box by the door. Smith shuffled quietly across the room and took a seat by the door, flipping through the magazines as he settled down on stiff joints. A few of them were written in a language he didn't understand, others so saturated with neon colors and glossy pages that Smith had to put them down for the sake of his overstimulated eyes. Some of the others were yellowed and flakey, crammed with pictographs of scantily-clad women and faded advertisements. Dark Link had most likely intended to throw them out, but decided that giving them to Smith was more or less the same thing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His interest in the magazines having expired, Smith turned his attention to the paper and pens underneath them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The papers were crisp, clean, and partially transparent. Smith picked up a few and held them in his palm, marveling at how the weight and texture were almost identical to that of cardstock. The pens sat inside little black cases, golden nibs polished and nestled in the velvet setting. Smith’s eyebrows climbed into his forehead in humble astonishment. After smoothing out a handful of papers and finding a magazine thick enough to use as a drawing surface, Smith turned his head toward the cell door and cleared his throat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your boss is a real nice guy, you know?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The words echoed through the cell. The monotonous rumble of patrolling guards halted at his words -- whether from surprise, agreement, irritation, or all three, Smith couldn't tell. A heartbeat of awkward, blind silence hung in the space between the cell and the corridor, broken only by a muffled cough from one of the guards. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, Smith was unfamiliar with the mannerisms of spectral soldiers. The cough had been loud (and fake) enough to certainly mean something, but whatever the said something might have been was beyond him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His focus drifted from the odd tension around him to the flowerpot sitting happily atop the bean bag chair. Earlier that morning he had nestled the little tulip and her entourage of dandelions under the brightest wall-mounted lantern he had, hoping the tinny light would make up for the sunlight's absence. A softness shivered through Smith's heart, and he found his pen moving across the page almost without thinking. Strange, angular shapes sparkled beneath the tip of his pen, clean and sharp and glistening with the mannerisms of a retired blacksmith. Stroke by pen stroke, an awkward impression of a dandelion came to life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Time slipped away in handfuls. Wiping off the smeared ink from the underside of his hand, Smith held the paper up to the light to admire his handwork. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was too tall, too angular, and too sharp -- its petals were more representative of little swords than a colorful crown of petals, but Smith beamed proudly nonetheless. Sure, it wasn't the best drawing he had ever made -- his grandson had always been better at artwork of the more organic persuasion -- but he was proud of it nonetheless. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A harsh knock on the door interrupted his happy thoughts. Smith ignored it at first, unwilling to force his attention away from his lopsided drawing, but a series of increasingly-urgent knocks changed his mind. He stood up with no small amount of difficulty and turned towards the door with a poorly-hidden scowl on his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A phantom guard opened the door before he could. Their massive, tungsten-clad frame filled the doorway, blocking out any view of the corridor behind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Bathroom," the guard commanded. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smith furrowed his eyebrows and awkwardly rubbed his hands together. "“Sorry, I’m not sure where the bathroom is. I’ve only been here for a few days, but I’m sure one of your friends might--”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The phantom guard grunted and poked a gloved finger against Smith's sternum. “You. Bathroom. Come.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smith opened his mouth, then closed it when the guard's words finally processed. The guard escorted him outside the cell, joined by a few other phantoms as they made their way down the corridor. The oppressive smell of wet stone and chewing tobacco oozed from the ceiling. Spiders skittered across the floor as Smith hurried along, his sides squished together by the armored guards at his right and left. Sometime along the way he was handed a fuzzy towel and a set of clothes that looked a little too small, along with muttered instructions on how to use the bathroom shower and how long he had to clean himself up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They stopped at a small, silver-edged door, which must have been their destination. Smith was all but shoved inside by the tallest guard, reminded once again that he only had five minutes to shower, use the bathroom, and tidy himself however else he pleased. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smith nodded quietly, then proceeded to take the fastest shower he had in his entire life. The pads of his fingers didn't even have the chance to wrinkle before he had been ordered by the guards to hurry up and get out. Water trickled down his beard and chest as he forced himself into the set of undersized pajamas, only giving himself half a heartbeat to marvel at how warm the garments were. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The silky gloth of the pajamas clung to Smith’s damp skin as the guards escorted him back to  his cell. After drying his face and beard with the towel he had been given and handing it back to one of the guards, Smith turned his attention to the tallest of them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Your boss is an awfully nice guy," Smith said, echoing his statement from earlier. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The gait of the tallest guard grew stilted. Based on the clenched fist and the muttered growl, it must have been the same guard that gave him that unintelligible cough earlier. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Awful’ is the only accurate part of that statement,” the guard responded. Smith flinched in surprise at the sudden reply, flinching again when one of the guards to his left made a disapproving sound at their companion's statement. Guessing from the half-heartedness of the sound, however, it seemed to be more out of habit than actual dissent.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, your boss is nice to me. Really nice, actually. Why shouldn't I like him?" Smith challenged. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A muffled grunt was the only response Smith got. He was returned to his cell before anything else could be said.  One of the guards handed him a plate of meatballs, beans, and mashed potatoes before closing the door, grumbling something about “lunch” and “one o’clock” and “don’t eat too loudly or the others will get annoyed with you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smith huffed, more out of boredom than frustration, and placed the plate on his lap. He watched the grease glisten atop the meatballs as he dragged his spoon through the mashed potatoes, trying and failing to dreg up the desire to eat. A distant part of him was hungry, or, at least, somewhat interested in the food before him, but his mind was too busy to process anything aside from his conversation with the guards. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So the boss was ‘awful,’ huh? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smith tapped his spoon against his teeth and furrowed his eyebrows. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What could that mean? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He idly munched on his food and ran his fingers through his beard as he thought. The guards didn't seem to like their boss -- not a big surprise, really, employees and employers didn't always have the best relationships -- but, for some reason, they didn't want Smith to like their boss either. Was this some sort of mind game? He hoped not. He was always better at making swords than witty plans. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It didn't take him long to grow tired of his own thoughts. Plate cleaned and mind emptied of its chatter, Smith settled into a state of peaceful spaciness. He hummed a song he didn't really know as he braided his beard. His mind grew quieter as his focus grew spacier, and he nearly laughed aloud when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His expression looked incredibly thoughtful. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smith smiled to himself, and the seriousness in his reflection's face faded away. It was a familiar paradox to him -- his idle expressions. He had a habit of looking incredibly serious when he was thinking of nothing at all. Even in the days before he had started blacksmithing, his wife and young son had always poked fun at the strange faces he made when he wasn't paying attention. Even his grandson would occasionally mimic him when they were working in the forge together, only stopping when Smith would grow confused and ask why Link looked so thoughtful. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The memories curled under his skin like snakes in the sun. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smith had long since learned that it was better to enjoy the memories rather than push them away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes drifted across the room and landed on the small pot of dandelions sitting underneath the lantern light. A faint brownish tinge colored the edge of the tulip's petals, and Smith's eyes widened in uncomfortable realization. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Water. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had completely forgotten to get the plant water. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me!” Smith called, noisily tapping his foot on the floor to catch the attention of the guards beyond it. “Can I have a cup of water?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were a few mumbles behind the door, the now-familiar clink of armored footsteps, and the creak of a metal door whispering upon greased hinges. It was the tallest guard once again, extending a cup of water to Smith from the space between the doorframe and the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you!” Smith says, taking the cup from the guard and hurrying to water the flowerpot with it. Water droplets sparkled on the tulip’s waxy stem and turned the potting soil a dark brown. A thin layer of dust that had settled on the dandelions washed away, revealing the canary feather petals beneath. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s weeds in that pot,” the guard suddenly remarked. Smith jolted in surprise as the guard advanced and gestured for him to hand over the flower pot. “Let me remove them.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, but thank you,” Smith said, placing the flower pot back on the beanbag chair. The flowers seem to stretch upward toward the light, and Smith gave each of them a fond pat. "I like the dandelions as much as the tulip." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The boss will be very upset if he sees these,” the guard said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He already saw them, and I told them that I don’t mind the dandelions. He didn’t have a problem with it.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Another moment of loud, uncomfortable silence stood between them, both parties questioning the mind and motives of the other. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"They’re weeds," the guard said at last. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So? They’re still beautiful.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guard's armor clinked, and the massive phantom at Smith's side seemed to be at a loss for words. Apparently they had expected the words "they're weeds" to elicit a stronger response. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand that you’re a blacksmith," the guard finally said, "so you may not have an understanding of these things, but those dandelions will hamper the growth of the tulip. It's too crowded for all of them to live in the same pot without one or all of them dying. Whether or not you think they're beautiful doesn't matter." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smith's elbows drew into his sides, and his eyes widened reflexively. The guard took a few steps forward, apparently satisfied with Smith's reaction, and made a movement to take the flower pot.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Wait!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The guard did as Smith said, hand hovering over the flowerpot like the blade of a guillotine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You sure know a lot about this sort of stuff," Smith said, the urgency from earlier now gone from his voice. The guard recoiled in surprise as Smith continued. "You know, my grandson is great with these sorts of things. So was his late father, but the same can't be said for me. Botany and such -- it was never my strong point. And I have to say I'm impressed! I didn't know that you knew so much about flowers!" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The guard shifted uncomfortably and rolled their shoulders as if their armor had suddenly grown too heavy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Botany </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> interesting,” the guard finally responded. “I don’t know much about it, honestly, but I’ve picked up things here and there from the boss.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh? So the boss is a scholar?”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...yes.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A scholar, a warrior, a benevolent host, and a working man. He seems to be quite the jack of all trades, that boss of yours.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The soft, shuffling shyness of the guard stilled and hardened. They no longer swayed bashfully from foot to foot, or rubbed their fingers together under the warm weight of Smith's compliments. The pink and lilac armor covering their body seemed to grow icy under the lantern light -- their approachability vanished alongside Smith's confidence. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s only like this because he wants something from you. Don’t put too much of your trust in him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The words hung in the air like poisonous flower buds, swaddled in secrets and the legacy of things better left unsaid. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And yet Smith reached forward and forced the buds open. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He wants something from me? I know that he was asking about my grandson, but what kind of information would he do with that?”    </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"..." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well?" Smith asked, gently prodding the phantom guard with his elbow.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you stupid?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smith winced. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, sometimes, yeah,” he finally managed to respond. “I like to think I’m getting better, but my age isn’t really helping things.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The guard took a few steps back and turned to the door. Their shoulders and chin were held high, but there was a sagging resignation in their posture that spoke to exhaustion and exasperation and something...else.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Something...else...Smith had grown very good at noticing. He knew all the symptoms -- he had seen them on his grandson’s face every time Smith forgot to pay the bills or couldn’t recall the name of the next door neighbor, when he stumbled over nothing or when he accidentally called his grandson “Luke” instead of “Link.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That slight dip of the head, the looseness of the guard’s grip on the door handle, the sigh lingering on each exhale...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The guard was disappointed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Disappointed... </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>and worried. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smith wasn’t sure which one was more surprising.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen," the guard began, his voice so low that Smith had to strain to hear it. "I’m only saying this because I feel bad for you. The boss…he’s not the person you think he is. He already knows the game you’re playing, and he intends to win.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The guard turned to face him, and pity flashed behind shadow-soaked eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re in danger, if you hadn’t figured it out. Be smart, or at least pretend to be. It won’t change anything in the end, but I feel like you should know. You were a good man. You deserve to go down with a fight, not a stab to the back.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The door creaked shut, and the guard was gone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smith's mind grew loud with wads of tangled, steaming thoughts. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was in danger. Well, he knew that already. He'd known from the start, from the day Dark Link had stepped foot inside his kitchen, but it had never worried him. Even the guard's small revelation had done little to shake him. He wasn't worried for his grandson either, that boy had been to hell and back and had returned with his evergreen smile still plastered on his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But there was still someone...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smith glanced at the flowerpot, at the small dandelions shying away from the tulip's arbitrary glory. His eyes drifted to the painting on the wall, the one that had so enamored him that morning. It glistened with oil and domesticity, the scene of the small family clustered around the fireplace reigniting an ashen fire in Smith's own heart. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The boss…he’s not the person you think he is…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smith smiled at the memory of the guard's words. That may have been the reality of things, at least in part, but it wasn't the whole truth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Because in the same way that Smith didn't know who Dark Link really was, neither did the guard. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And neither, Smith suspected, did Dark Link himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm so sorry for the super late update! I've been in a bit of a writing rut lately, but I'm going to be focusing exclusively on this story until it's finished! Hopefully I'll manage to wrap it up in a decent amount of time, haha! </p>
<p>Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! I'm still going through and answering all the wonderful comments on this story and a few others, but if you do happen to have the moment to leave a comment, you have my word that I'll answer it! </p>
<p>Thank you for reading! Chapter 6 will be out soon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Pure Grinding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Just like many other middle-aged working men, Dark Link goes to work to work at 9 and comes back at 5. </p><p>Unlike many other middle-aged working men, Dark Link knows exactly what he's working for.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've been some places<br/>Places I never should've been<br/>I caught some changes<br/>Changes that made me who I am</p><p>When I get it, I ain't ever goin' back again<br/>When I get it, I ain't ever goin' back again<br/>100 percent, yeah, pure grindin' </p><p>◢ ◤ "Pure Grinding" - Avicii ◢ ◤</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dark Link walked quickly down the corridor, dress shoes clicking elegantly on the tile as he reviewed the schedule for the day ahead. </p><p> </p><p>The interview with Smith had finished faster than he had planned it to. Judging from the slanted, golden sunlight streaming through the tower windows, he guessed that it was somewhere around 8 o'clock. A quick glance at the timepiece on his wrist revealed that his estimations were correct, and he let out a pinched sigh. </p><p> </p><p>8 o'clock. That meant he had an hour before he needed to warp and meet up with King Bulblin. Might as well get there early -- there was a lot of work to be done today, and a little auxiliary preparation and discussion was always beneficial. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link speed-walked to his room. A cardboard smile sat on his face, slightly lopsided and too tight around the edges, but an all-around decent impression of the real thing.  </p><p> </p><p>Today would be a great day. </p><p> </p><p>He slid into his room without a sound, pulling on his grey battle tunic and swapping out his dress shoes for creamy white combat boots. The golden boot buckles sparkled in the dim light, an elegant mimicry of the Hero of Legend's footwear, and the sword strapped to his back answered with a dim glint of its own. </p><p> </p><p>If things went according to plan, his battle-ready gear would be more of a formality than a necessity. But he wasn't going to be taking any chances. Especially not on a day like today. </p><p> </p><p>After all, no plan survives contact with the enemy. </p><p> </p><p>After clipping a few supply bags of various sizes to his belt, Dark Link locked his room and made way to the sixth level of the tower. He squinted as he hurried up the main stairwell. The sunlight streaming through the tower was brighter than it had been ten minutes ago, filtering through stained glass windows like spools of multicolored silk. Light scattered off the polished stairwell railing and dripped off the edges. Pools of orange and white coalesced on the bottom floors, and Dark Link's fingers itched as they lingered in the sunlight. </p><p> </p><p>It burned, but in a good way. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link caught himself before sentimentality could sweep him away. He ascended the stairwell with his pace and focus redoubled, eyebrows furrowed against the flow of his thoughts. If he wanted today to go smoothly, he needed to focus. </p><p> </p><p>The battle between his impulse and good sense had washed out by the time he reached the sixth floor. Two massive mahogany doors stood before him. A whisper of frost skittered under the space between the door and the floor, leaving spiderwebs of ice in their wake. </p><p> </p><p>Nothing looked like it had been touched. </p><p> </p><p>That was good. </p><p> </p><p>Fitting a fingernail-sized key into the door lock was all that was needed to get the massive doors to move. After casting a routine glance behind him and ensuring there was no one there, Dark Link stepped inside and closed the door. </p><p> </p><p>A massive room encased in ice stood before him. Light of unknown origin flickered off pale blue spikes. Tentacles of frost spread across the walls and shimmered with hidden gold. Icicles leered from the ceiling like the teeth of a rabid beast, dripping pearlescent saliva on the floor below. </p><p> </p><p>He crushed the heat in his chest before it could overcome him. </p><p> </p><p>He didn't come here to think. He didn't come here to mourn. He didn’t come here to reflect. He didn't come here to ogle over the light or to envy the frost's inanimate liveliness. He didn't come here to feel the thrum of stored energy within the ice, the twisting and turning of stockpiled vices and growing strength.</p><p> </p><p>He didn't come here to stare at the glacier in the middle of the room. </p><p> </p><p>He didn't come here to press his ears against it. </p><p> </p><p>He didn't come here to strain his ears for the sound of a heartbeat... </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ba-dum  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ba-dum </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ba-dum </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A heartbeat that one day would be his. </p><p> </p><p>The timepiece on his wrist clicked, and Dark Link remembered himself. With a grimace, he pulled away from the ice and ran a hand down his face. </p><p> </p><p>He was so close to the finish line. </p><p> </p><p>So close. </p><p> </p><p>So close he could almost feel joy at the prospect. </p><p> </p><p>He walked briskly out of the room, grabbing a small icicle on his way out. </p><p> </p><p>A smile copied from magazine covers and shoddy paintings stuck to his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>He was almost human. </p><p> </p><p>+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Dark Link stepped out of the portal, took one breath of the pollen-filled air, and immediately grimaced. </p><p> </p><p>Kokiri Forest glistened before him, full of its oversaturated colors and unwelcome friendliness. A breeze heavy with the sweat of a thousand trees clambered along the ground. A sliver of a crescent moon hung in the sky, silent as the sun filled the clearing with overcooked light. Small creatures skittered along bark and detritus, their languid movements doubling in speed as Dark Link approached. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link adjusted the baldric on his shoulder and picked up his pace. The Kokiri Forest had nearly doubled in size during the latter part of Hero of Time's lifetime, spreading out into Hyrule Field with the desperation of a dying soldier. Frankly, Dark Link couldn't blame the trees for trying to flee. A curse had already begun to set on the forest -- one that the Hero of Time wouldn't realize until it was far too late. </p><p> </p><p>Hero. </p><p> </p><p>What a silly title to give a man who didn't know his own home was rotting away. </p><p> </p><p>The forest grew deeper and darker. Less light filtered through the foliage. The smell of pollen was replaced by that of stagnant, wet earth, then with the stench of pig flesh and bloody weapons. The clatter of utensils and chatter of monsters rose to a dull roar. Dark Link squinted his eyes (only for the aesthetic of it, of course, his eyesight was far sharper than any corporeal being's) as the scene slowly unfolded around him. Groups of bokoblins huddled around small campfires, roasting eggs and meat in anticipation for the long day ahead. Monsters chittered and chattered among themselves. Maps were passed around and bets were made. Armor polish was exchanged between calloused hands as war boars were washed down and cooed by their riders. A handful of wizzrobes drifted around the clearing, leaving the familiar stench of burnt magic behind them. Muted sunlight glinted off lynel horns. If the cerulean shimmer of their fur coats were anything to go off of, they were the lynels from the Hero of Hyrule's era. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link stepped into the clearing, and all action ceased. </p><p> </p><p>Innumerable eyes turned to him. Jaws dropped. Conversations evaporated. A shocked wizzrobe accidentally set their robes aflame, and judging from the pinched whimper across the clearing, it looked like at least one bokoblin had wet themselves at the sight of him. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link tried not to snicker. </p><p> </p><p>Monsters scrambled out of his way as he walked across the clearing. Dark Link didn't even spare them a glance, his chin high and shoulders taut with authority, only slowing down when he reached the foot of a massive tent. The embroidered leather was heavy with unintelligible symbols and surprisingly nimble stitches, overlaid with a brushed bear skin. Dark Link ran his fingers over the delicate craftsmanship as he waited for the tent's inhabitants to invite him in. King Bulblin would probably spout some nonsense about the leather tent being some sort of insulative device, but Dark Link knew the truth. </p><p> </p><p>It was a show of power. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link's smile grew stickier. </p><p> </p><p>He could respect that.</p><p> </p><p>Something rustled behind the tent. A small bulblin peeked its head out. </p><p> </p><p> “For the last time, his highness said he didn’t want any--” </p><p> </p><p>The bulblin's eyes locked with Dark Link. Their eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, Boss, you’re...”</p><p> </p><p> “I need to talk to your king.”  </p><p> </p><p>The bulblin looked up at him dumbly, mouth frozen in place. Dark Link's nose scrunched.</p><p> </p><p>"Now." </p><p> </p><p>"O-o-oh of course, B-boss," the bulblin stammered. The tent flap was pulled aside, and Dark Link was ushered inside. </p><p> </p><p>King Bulblin sat on a bed mat, curved horns shimmering in the lamp light. A heavy purple cape was draped over his shoulders. The smell of incense and stew filled the tent as Dark Link took a seat, casting a sidelong look at the monster before him. A low table sat between them, laden with maps, compasses, and a handful of elegant ballpoint pens. </p><p> </p><p>“Took you long enough.” </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link narrowed his eyes. The boy was certainly better than his late father, but there was a pompousness around the new King of the Bulblins that Dark Link had never grown fond of.</p><p> </p><p>"I’m <em> early </em>,” Dark Link hissed. </p><p> </p><p>King Bulblin rolled his eyes, signifying the beginning and the end of their pleasantries. </p><p> </p><p>“The heroes arrived in the era of the Hero of Time yesterday afternoon," King Bulblin began, pointing at the relevant portion of the map before him. "They left the ranch at daybreak and plan to stop at Castle Town after visiting Lake Hylia and Kakariko.” </p><p> </p><p>"Hmm. Tell me something I don't know."</p><p> </p><p>King Bulblin glared at Dark Link but continued on. “I’ve already dispatched a handful of scouts and a few archers to follow them. A third of the men here at camp are preparing to meet up with them two hours to noon to lead the coordinated attack.” </p><p> </p><p>“I already told you to tell me something I don’t know.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m getting to that. But before I do, I need you to explain something to me.” </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link looked up through half-lidded eyes. King Bulblin rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward, horns grazing the roof of the tent and pulling a few threads loose. </p><p> </p><p>“Why won’t you let me kill him?” </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link let out a pinched sigh. “We’ve already gone over this.” </p><p> </p><p>“No, we haven’t. You explained to me why you don’t want me to kill all of them. That, I understand. And I can respect a man who puts his goals before his bloodlust. But I’m only asking to kill him. Just him.”  </p><p> </p><p>The shadows in the room grew taut. Dark Link's eyes sparkle with practiced impatience. </p><p> </p><p>“You will *not* kill the Hero of Twilight.”  </p><p> </p><p>“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t. And don’t give me that total nonsense about me not being strong enough to do it. I’m not stupid enough to underestimate the demon that killed my father, but you underestimate me by assuming I'm incapable of doing so. I’ve been preparing my entire life for this moment. And with the power-up you promised, I’ll be invincible. Those were your own words, Dark Link.”  </p><p> </p><p>The tent was silent. Dark Link munched quietly on the cashews one of the bulblin servants had brought in, eyes quiet and thoughtful. </p><p> </p><p>King Bulblin seethed. “Well? Give me the answer. Or the power-up. Preferably both."</p><p> </p><p>With hierophant-like elegance, Dark Link put aside the small plate of cashews and turned to face his companion. The stench of sulfur and brimstone became overwhelming, and Dark Link’s expression darkened as King Bulblin brought a hand to his nose. </p><p> </p><p>“Tell me," Dark Link began, "which is better? Killing the man and sending him to heaven, or making his life a living hell?” </p><p> </p><p>The words settled like mold on bread. King Bulblin relaxed in thought, his eyes growing soft as he considered Dark Link's words. </p><p> </p><p>“You know more about my plan than anyone else, King Bulblin. I wouldn’t have confided in you if I didn’t see tremendous potential within you. Yet you only understand bits and pieces of what I’ve explained. Both of us are doing this for selfish reasons. You want revenge. I want humanity. We can both get what we want with minimal compromise. The only requirement is that we are patient with ourselves, our men, and each other."</p><p> </p><p>The cylindrical pouch attached to Dark Link's belt burned. A tantalizing coolness oozed into the air around it, and Dark Link slowly unlatched it from his belt. </p><p> </p><p>Ice crackled and sparkled into the air as Dark Link withdrew a glistening icicle from the pouch -- <em> the </em> icicle -- and placed it before King Bulblin. Clouds of wet, cooled air wafted around it, casting little rainbows and a faint halo of light on the tent floor. </p><p> </p><p>The smell of vanilla and ice and overwhelming, unbridled power grew nauseating. </p><p> </p><p>“The power-up…” </p><p> </p><p>King Bulblin reached for the icicle. Dark Link yanked it just out of reach. </p><p> </p><p>“Before I give you this, you must listen extremely carefully to what I am about to tell you. I will only give you the power-up if you agree to obey everything I am about to say.”</p><p> </p><p>King Bulblin nodded cautiously, eyes still trained on the icicle. </p><p> </p><p>“Do not kill any of the heroes. Do not attempt to kill any of the heroes. If you do so, I will kill you, and then use the...power-up, as you call it...to revive however many heroes you killed. I am not saying this because I lack faith in you or your abilities, but needlessly complicating our plan will sully my interest in keeping you as a key player. I said you would get your revenge on the Hero of Twilight, and I have every intention of bringing that promise to fruition. But there are other chips that must fall first.”  </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link extended his hand across the table. The icicle sparkled from between his fingers. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you trust me?” </p><p> </p><p>King Bulblin's eyes shone with some eerie amalgamation of respect and intoxication. The beast nodded slowly. </p><p> </p><p>"Then take it," Dark Link said, his voice softer than velvet. "You have my blessing to keep it and use it." </p><p> </p><p>With shaking fingers, King Bulblin transferred the power-up from Dark Link's hand to his own. </p><p> </p><p>Nothing happened. </p><p> </p><p>“Am I supposed to eat it?” the monster finally asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Something like that, but don’t do it now. Try to ration it throughout the day so that your body has time to adjust. And don’t eat it all at once. It might kill you.” </p><p> </p><p>King Bulblin's eyes narrowed. "Is that an exaggeration?" </p><p> </p><p>“When have I ever exaggerated?” Dark Link drawled, his eyebrows low and his voice deadpan.  </p><p> </p><p>“How much power have you stored in here?” </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link tapped a finger to his chin as he filtered through his memories. “Two month’s worth. It’s especially potent; I drew it from the Hero of Hyrule when he first found out that the elder of his Zeldas had fallen sick with a...mysterious illness.” </p><p> </p><p>King Bulblin snickered. Dark Link gave himself the luxury of joining in. </p><p> </p><p>“For heroes they sure have a lot of vices," the monster observed. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link nodded in the slow, self-satisfied way that had come to define him. “Of course they do. If that weren’t the case, I wouldn’t be here.” </p><p> </p><p>The bulblin servant returned with a wooden plate laden with an almost sinful variety of breakfast foods, placing it gingerly in front of King Bulblin before scuttling away. The monster picked at the food with surprising refinery. </p><p> </p><p>"Would you like some?" King Bulblin asked, gesturing vaguely to Dark Link.</p><p> </p><p>"No thank you, I think I'll be eating light today." </p><p> </p><p>King Bulblin nodded. A few minutes of silence passed between them, with King Bulblin picking at his breakfast and Dark Link sipping from his canteen. The shadow cast an approving glance at his canteen as he pulled it away from his lips. Perhaps it hadn’t been a bad idea to bring a strawberry smoothie to work after all. Dark Link took another sip, nodding thoughtfully at the frothy, sugary taste.  </p><p> </p><p>The timepiece on Dark Link's wrist ticked. He cast a sidelong glance at it, letting his eyebrows flicker upwards as he read the time. </p><p> </p><p>There was only half an hour left before they had to move out. </p><p> </p><p>“How comfortable do you feel with the plan?” Dark Link asked, turning to King Bulblin as he capped his canteen and clipped it back to his belt. </p><p> </p><p>“Very. But there are a few small alterations I wanted to mention to you.” </p><p> </p><p>King Bulblin pulled out a second map and handed it to Dark Link, gesturing to the sections circled in red and orange. </p><p> </p><p> “I’ll have my snipers instigate the attack on the Heroes and act as a diversion," the monster began. "They’ll be the nail to the upcoming hammering force -- which is that third of the army I mentioned before. I’ll be accompanying this division.”  </p><p> </p><p>“No hero-killing," Dark Link admonished. </p><p> </p><p>King Bulblin snorted, rolling his eyes in irritation but not disagreement. “We’ll drive the heroes to Kakariko by sunset. Another third of my men will travel to Lon-Lon to take the girl and burn down the stables. I’m sending my right and left hand men to disrupt the delivery of their Chateau Romani later this evening and make a spectacle out of it.” </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link quirked an eyebrow.  “Evening? That’s a bit late. I was planning to set up a warp gate for the heroes sometime in the afternoon. The Hero of Time won’t be able to see the reputation of his little ranch plummet to the floor if he’s not even in the same era.” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, weren’t you planning to have him notified of these things through mail? Isn’t that what you did with all the other heroes? No offense, but it doesn’t matter whether he’s in the same era or not if you intend to keep sending those letters."</p><p> </p><p>“None taken; you’re right," Dark Link said. His voice was heavier than normal. "But I could certainly benefit from the guilt that he’d feel if he watches the delivery fiasco go down himself -- if, of course, he’s incapacitated from helping."</p><p> </p><p>Lamplight gleamed off the laminated map. Dark Link handed it back and let out a small sigh. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, well. The letter will do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmpf. You’re a bit of a masochist, aren’t you?” </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link snorted in surprise at King Bulblin's comment. “Just because I share a name with someone doesn’t mean we’re the same person. And, unlike the hero, I draw strength from his vices. Being a ‘masochist’ is a given if I have any interest in pushing this plan forward.”  </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, sure. Anyway, about the girl, are you sure you don't want to take her?"</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, the redhead? No. She doesn’t have any information that I don’t already have. Just sedate her and keep her somewhere safe and nondescript for a few days. You can return her next Thursday. All the hero needs to know is that his wife is missing. That will do all the damage needed. If she starts to give you trouble, just let her know that we have sword tips pointed to her husband’s neck. That should calm her down.”  </p><p> </p><p>A trio of bulblins entered the tent, covered head-to-toe in armor. They explained that there was about a quarter hour left before the first division made their way out -- the snipers had already begun their assault on the heroes, and the rest of them were ready to move out at their highness’s command. King Bulblin nodded and shooed them away as he gathered his things, giving Dark Link a sidelong look as the shadow stood up with a flourish. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, I should get going. Best of luck with your attacks. You know what to do if something goes wrong.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re not going to stay and watch?” King Bulblin asked, already knowing the answer. </p><p> </p><p>“I’d love to, but I need to get to Kakariko to set up. And anyway, fight scenes are a pain to write. I might be a masochist, but the author isn’t.” </p><p> </p><p>With a heel-turn and a wave, Dark Link made his way out of camp. There was a lot of work that still needed to be done. Pure grinding -- that's all he saw when he took a moment to mull over the things he had planned for the days ahead. </p><p> </p><p>But it was worth it. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe not now, but one day...</p><p> </p><p>One day he would have everything and never look back. </p><p> </p><p>One day…</p><p> </p><p>One day all this pure grinding would be worth it. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you guys enjoyed that chapter! I've decided to put this fic on a regular update schedule, so expect 2-4k word updates every Sunday! I know it's not much, but I really hope you all will enjoy it anyway! </p><p>Thank you to everyone who's shown support for this story so far, whether that be through comments, kudos, DMS on Discord or anything else! I really appreciate and cherish all the kindness you all have shown me, and I hope that this story will continue to entertain! </p><p>If you have any thoughts or questions or observations, please don't be afraid to leave a comment! I always respond, and every comment I get encourages me to keep writing. Of course, though, you're not obligated. As long as you enjoyed the story, I'm happy!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. City Lights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dark Link is forced to work overtime, and, for the first time in a long time, he isn't upset about it.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's alright, we never look back<br/>Birds will sing if we fall<br/>It's alright, with memories inside<br/>Midnight dust on the floor<br/>Watch it turn into gold</p><p>◢ ◤ "City Lights" - Avicii ◢ ◤</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Orange flames and pink blossoms danced overhead. Heart-shaped clouds floated across the dome of the sky, saturated with the painfully bright colors of the dying sun. Dark Link watched the sunset over Kakariko Village’s horizon with wide eyes. The restlessness in his bones cooled from the sight overhead, and it took him a moment to realize that he was frozen in awe.</p><p> </p><p>A wistful grunt caught itself in his throat, quickly replaced with one of the more disdainful sort when he looked around and noticed he was the only villager marveling at the overhead display. They clearly took the sunset for granted. </p><p> </p><p>What fools.  </p><p> </p><p>A chill skittered beneath his borrowed skin, and Dark Link remembered with a start that Hylian bodies were sensitive to temperature. He glanced down at the hands of the body he had <strike>possessed</strike> borrowed, running a thumb along yellowed calluses and little silver scars from cat claws. This body certainly wasn't the type he was used to piloting. The feminine heaviness around the bust and rear was something that had caught him off guard more than once -- did this woman really handle this sort of extra weight every day? -- and even the slightest brush of the breeze was enough to awaken an army of goosebumps. </p><p> </p><p>Tired with the shivering of the body around him, Dark Link retreated within the cottage. The woman he had temporarily taken up residence in had a truly lovely little house: lace curtains fluttered around the window, and a pleasing palette of soft pinks and yellows doused the furniture. Steam clouded from the stovetop as the smell of baking bread filled the kitchen. Sudsy utensils and an assortment of plates sat in a tin tub. Dark Link pulled a tablecloth out from the kitchen cabinet and began to set the table, thoughts both his and not rumbling through his mind. </p><p> </p><p>His host was certainly a strange one. She hadn't so much as flinched when Dark Link had first taken the reins of her consciousness, and even now her spirit was motionless at the back of their shared mind. He hoped she hadn't died from the shock. He liked her sense of style, quite frankly, and it would be a shame for someone like her to pass on just because her heart couldn't handle the surprise. </p><p> </p><p>A strange sadness lingered in the woman's body as Dark Link carried out his domestic tasks. Her skin had stretched from birthing and raising so many children, and her heart was empty because they had all forgotten about her. The rawness at the tips of her fingers spoke to a nervous obsession with cleaning and cooking -- a habit that Dark Link understood better than he would have liked -- and an embarrassing campfire of hope burned at the bottom of her chest. Perhaps her children hadn't really forgotten her: they were all wealthy merchants at this point; it really was no surprise that their work would keep them busy and away from the village.  </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link shook his head. What a foolish woman she was, wasting the years of her retirement lamenting the fact that her children no longer spoke to her. A flash of irritation rose within him as he looked around the warm little cottage. Sunset poured in through the open window and illuminated the feast set on the table before him: pound cake, hotcorn, zora-style fish salad and a generous tray of butter cookies.  </p><p> </p><p>Could she really not see all the beautiful things she had? The sunset, her beating heart, and a warm house in the sleepiest corner of the kingdom? Dark Link snorted. Oh well. Her obsession with her long-lost children had served him well -- she had far more groceries than needed for a woman living alone, which made dinner preparations much easier than they would have been otherwise. </p><p> </p><p>The light from the window faded along with the sunset, and Dark Link tied back the scraggly hair on his head. The heroes would be arriving soon. He slipped on a coat hung on a lonesome rack and fiddled with the buttons (buttons? really? how painfully out of style), eyes drifting towards the plethora of beds pressed against the wall. </p><p> </p><p>Nine children. The woman had nine children, and had kept the beds of each one. In any other situation Dark Link would have rolled his eyes at such a humiliating display of hope, but today the woman's foolishness would serve him well. </p><p> </p><p>A blast of cold air greeted him as he stepped outside the cottage and locked the door. Grass crunched beneath slippered feet as he hurried to the town entrance, tossing the occasional wave and glance at the passing acquaintance. Cuccos squawked. A windmill turned lazily in the distance. He had heard so much about Kakariko's sleepy aura, but experiencing it for himself was certainly something unique. Familiar thoughts pressed against the forefront of his mind as he hurried along. Hopefully things would work out quickly -- he was supposed to get home by five o'clock, and it was already six. He wouldn't have been surprised if the events of the hours to come turned in his favor and required him to pull a 24 hour shift, but Dark Link never took kindly to working overtime. Plus, he had already finished the strawberry smoothie he had brought to work. It would be a shame if he didn't have anything to snack on tomorrow. </p><p> </p><p>The woman's slippers shuffled against the stone steps of the town entrance. A sleepy guard dozed to the side, head lolling against the wall as he struggled to stay awake. The banner over the town's entrance cast a cool shadow over them both, and Dark Link smothered a wave of irritation at the guard's incompetence. </p><p> </p><p>Incompetence might have been too tame of a word to use, now that he thought about it. </p><p> </p><p>"Hey, you," Dark Link hissed, his voice nearly three octaves higher than what he was used to. The guard startled awake and gave Dark Link a bashful grin. </p><p> </p><p> “Oh! Ms. Price, I didn’t see you there. How are you this evening?”</p><p> </p><p>Dark Link shifted quickly through the woman's memories to get a better feel for her personality -- he didn't want to reply with something too out-of-character and garner any unwanted attention. The woman was usually timid and a bit of a wallflower, if the memory spoke true, but she could hold her own against young men. Hmph. Probably because she had raised more than a half-dozen herself.  </p><p> </p><p>In a perfect imitation of Ms. Price herself, Dark Link crossed his arms and clenched his jaw at a slightly tilted angle. After a moment of deliberation, he even let a little bit of the woman's spirit shine through his words. </p><p> </p><p>”I’m doing fine," he said, "how about you? Shouldn’t you be a little more awake if it's your shift, young man?" </p><p> </p><p>The guard blushed. Dark Link continued, but this time the words were coated with his own consciousness. </p><p> </p><p>“Really, you should pay more attention. If you’re not going to do your job right you shouldn’t do it at all.” </p><p> </p><p>The guard colored and shied away, water shining in his eyes. Dark Link let out a disapproving grunt. Was the boy going to cry?  Being incompetent was bad enough, but being overly sensitive was unacceptable. Whoever had hired this teary embarrassment should be ashamed.</p><p> </p><p>Quickly growing tired of the guard's childish antics, Dark Link turned his eyes toward the horizon. The corners of his lips flickered upwards. It took a moment for the guard to notice the object of Dark Link's mild amusement, but when he did, he let out the most pathetic shriek of surprise the shadow had ever heard. </p><p> </p><p>The silhouette of nine battered and bleeding heroes pressed against the sunset, green tunics stained red and skin shining with bruises. The smallest hero collapsed into the arms of the sleepy guard as soon as the latter approached, and a few of the others muttered their apologies as they wiped sweat from their brow and trembled with hunger. A tension at the back of Dark Link's neck relaxed when it became obvious that the Hero of Twilight was still alive; he was completely catatonic, lying in the arms of the Hero of Time like an oversized ragdoll, but he was alive nonetheless. Dark Link slowly made his way down the steps, wringing his hands together in perfect imitation of a worried villager. </p><p> </p><p>"By Din, what happened to you all?" the guard asked, finally having gotten over his initial shock. </p><p> </p><p>“Ambush," the Hero of Time wheezed. "Some monsters trapped us near Lake Hylia. We’re okay, though.” </p><p> </p><p>The weight of the hero's white lie hung in the air. A thrum of energy buzzed beneath Dark Link's soul, and his eyesight grew sharp. </p><p> </p><p>"Must have been some monsters indeed," the guard murmured, hoisting the smallest hero up from the undersides of his arms. His eyes flickered desperately to Dark Link. Dark Link pressed a tight, worried, motherly smile to his face and twiddled his thumbs in imitation of anxiety. </p><p> </p><p>“You all look terrible," Dark Link began, voice sweetened with the woman's sincere concern. "Come with me. I’ve got warm beds and warm food.” The shadow cast a purposeful glance at the guard as he helped a few of the heroes up the steps."Young man, tell the doctor to come over to my place. We need to get these boys patched up." </p><p> </p><p>The heroes were elated at the offer. The Hero of the Wind's eyes sparkled faintly, and the eldest hero let out a breathy sigh of gratitude. They all followed Dark Link into town, some wheezing as they dragged themselves along, others coughing quietly as they shouldered the burden of their unconscious reincarnations. The ones who could still breathe without spitting up crimson made small talk with the <strike>possessed</strike> woman. Dark Link spoke to them in return as they followed him along, slightly surprised at how quickly their guard dropped by the time they entered the cottage; it took only a few seconds of urging and gesturing to usher the Links inside. </p><p> </p><p>Their jaws dropped as they took in the scene. Dark Link couldn't blame them. The center of the dinner table dipped inward from the weight of all the food. An almost uncomfortable warmth emanated from the plush beds and washed silk sheets. A hand-sized first-aid pack sat on the kitchen counter, and even though it would be useless in the face of some of the heroes’ injuries, the sentiment itself was comforting. </p><p> </p><p>The Hero of Warriors and the Hero of Hyrule traded suspicious glances, but a smile and a few hushed whispers from the Hero of Time were enough to ease them. It was a good thing that Dark Link had planned to <strike>possess</strike> pilot this woman ahead of time; perhaps the Hero of Time wouldn't have been so comfortable lodging in Ms. Price's cottage if she hadn’t been a frequent and loyal customer of Lon-Lon Ranch. </p><p> </p><p>It was quite embarrassing how much and how easily Hylians trusted people they've only spoken to a few times. Of course, he was sure the last thing the Hero of Time expected was for Ms. Price's body and mind to currently be in the possession of one Dark Link, but that didn't change the principal behind his overtrusting nature. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link hung up his coat on the rack and turned to face the Links. “My sons were supposed to come over from Castle Town today for dinner...but...well, I think they forgot to come. I...uh...I had everything ready for a feast and I was just about to throw it all away when you gentlemen showed up. I wish we had met better circumstances, but I'll be honored to watch over you all until you’re feeling better...uh...go ahead and place any dirty clothes in the laundry bin over there...and take a seat...the doctor should be along at any moment.” </p><p> </p><p>Almost as soon as Dark Link had stuttering and stammering in a convincingly Ms. Price-y way, the doctor stepped in. He took one look at the small army of beat-up boys and let out a small hiss. </p><p> </p><p>"You hurt yourselves pretty badly, didn't you? I'm not sure I have the magic capacity to heal everyone, but I have some fairies and potions for a more temporary fix if that happens to be the case." </p><p> </p><p>The Links were almost delirious with gratitude. They all but shoved their most injured party members into the young doctor's face as they detailed what injuries were sustained to which body parts. The doctor hung up his hat and got to work, diagnosing the heroes aloud: the Hero of the Four Sword had sprained both wrists and ankles, the Chosen Hero had broken a rib, and the Hero of Legend had a concussion. The Hero of Twilight had a small collection of head injuries along with one broken arm and dislocated shoulder; it took him nearly half an hour to wake up even after a generous amount of the doctor’s attention. </p><p> </p><p>The smell of potions, healing magic, and fairies filled the air. Blood from open wounds dripped onto the floor and stained the carpet beneath, prompting both the doctor and the heroes to glance apologetically at Dark Link. He waved their concern away with a flurry of motherly words and as he mopped up the stains. Stained clothes slowly filled the bin as injuries were healed and clean dressing was placed over them, and a sense of relief and contentment bloomed in the small cottage. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link filled the tin tub with water and soap, wondering idly when the vices would begin to show. Even now he couldn't sense any hint of anger between the Links. There were no accusatory voices, no shouts of anger or blame or general discontent. He shouldn't have been surprised. The Links were a quiet bunch, given to brooding and festering instead of loud outbursts of emotion, but it would be nice to have some sort of audiovisual proof of his hard work. </p><p> </p><p>Oh well. He had waited nearly a year so far. He could wait longer. </p><p> </p><p>The doctor, having finished healing the most injured heroes in the party and administering diluted potions to those who were in better shape, stood up to admire his handiwork. The Hero of the Four Sword, Chosen Hero, Hero of Legend and Hero of Twilight were all awake and moving about. The deep gash across the Hero of the Wind's chest was healed and bandaged, and the circlets of burns across the Hero of Time's face were healed. Even the minor cuts and bruises on the Hero of Warriors' knuckles had been cleaned. The Hero of Hyrule and the Hero of the Wild -- the two that had sustained the least damage despite their habitually reckless fighting tactics -- helped change the others into the clean pajamas Dark Link had provided. After handing all the heroes a small vial of pink potion (to help them sleep at night, the doctor had said) and giving Dark Link a small wave, the doctor left. </p><p> </p><p>"How are you all feeling?" Dark Link asked. A chorus of much-better-ma'am!s and wonderful, thank you so much!s filled the air. With that painfully-friendly smile still on his face, Dark Link invited them all to take a seat at the dinner table, even helping the Hero of Twilight into his seat when his legs nearly gave out beneath him. Everyone looked much calmer than before as they ate and chatted and, on occasion, asked Dark Link for a second helping of this or that. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link observed them quietly. While it hadn't been obvious earlier, there was a marked change in the usual way the Hero of the Wild and Hero of Twilight were interacting. The two took care not to look at each other or dwell in the other's presence too long. They didn't mention each other even once during their conversations with the other heroes, conveniently ignoring the other when they asked the group for help reaching a certain dish. Dark Link ran his fingers over his knuckles. That was good. Their awkwardness with each other clearly hadn't festered into anything worse, but it was a relief to see that the attack had done enough to shake the foundation of their relationship. </p><p> </p><p>It was frustrating that the same still wasn't true for the Hero of Hyrule and Hero of Legend. The two stuck together like mortar and brick, chatting softly with each other as they ate. Well, it wasn't too much of a problem. The Hero of Hyrule still hadn't told anyone about the supposed illness the elder of his Zeldas had come down with, and carrying the secret alone for long enough would eventually reap the consequences Dark Link was waiting for. The Hero of Legend had enough problems of his own even without Dark Link's interference; as long as he kept up his stupidly self-sacrificial vigil of saying nothing and feeling nothing, the relationships he had with the others and the "noble" character he believed himself to have would start to crack. The rest of the others seemed to be alright for the time being. That wasn't a problem. Most of them either weren't aware of the plans Dark Link had in store for them or hadn't become the subject of his focus (yet), but rest assured there was something planned for them. </p><p> </p><p>Except for one. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link's gaze drifted to the Hero of the Four Sword, who sat quietly on the opposite end of the table. His soft-angled face and stubby eyelashes were painfully familiar, and the strange lack of a smile or other indication of general ease was almost disturbing. Almost. Not that the event itself was concerning -- fewer smiling heroes meant Dark Link was closer to his goal -- but Dark Link couldn't shake the image of <em> him </em> from his mind when he looked at the small boy. There was that same luminescent blue in his eyes and that small dimple on the left cheek, an echo of someone else when he tapped his foot on the ground beneath him or cast a curious glance at the food piled on the table. </p><p> </p><p>Ignoring the discomfort that came from seeing this warped version of his prisoner before him, Dark Link analyzed the hero a little closer. The boy's gaze didn't linger on any one person for too long. Each time his name came up in conversation he would flinch, then smile, then quietly observe until the conversation faded away. He hadn't even spoken to or about the Chosen Hero once during their dinner. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link placed a hand over his chest -- not the <strike>possessed</strike> woman's chest, <em> his </em> -- and felt a familiar power pointing. </p><p> </p><p>Ah. So the Hero of the Four Sword had begun to crack. </p><p> </p><p>"Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Ms. Price," the Hero of Time said, temporarily distracting Dark Link from his train of thought. The rest of the Links said something along the same lines, offering to wipe down the table and clean the dishes as they licked up the last of their food. Dark Link put on the woman's simpering smile and waved away the offers. It would be better that the Links got their rest, he said, and handling the cleanup alone would be no trouble at all. This was punctuated and emphasized by Dark Link gathering up the plates and getting a headstart on cleaning them all. It took a few more moments before the Links relented and retired to bed, stomachs full of food and potions and healing magic. </p><p> </p><p>Except for one. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link could feel the Hero of the Four Sword's eyes on his back. He closed the tap and shook the cloudy water off his fingers before turning around. </p><p> </p><p>A swell of excitement blossomed in his chest when he saw the distraught look on the boy's face. </p><p> </p><p>"Young man, are you alright?" Dark Link asked in Ms. Price's voice.</p><p> </p><p>The hero cast a glance at the rest of the room, and after confirming that they were all asleep, he turned back to Dark Link. </p><p> </p><p>"It’s my fault." </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link had not expected this. He had set up the house and food and beds in hopes in order to examine the Links in person and catalogue the progression of their vices, but having the opportunity to actively catalyze the character regression of this hero in particular...</p><p> </p><p>This was more than he could have ever asked for. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link dried his hands on a rag and took a seat beside the Hero of the Four Sword, eyes wide with fabricated concern. "What do you mean by saying it's your fault?" </p><p> </p><p>The hero inhaled sharply and looked away. “It’s my fault. All of this. I knew I heard something suspicious when we were leaving Lake Hylia. I even caught a glimpse of the bokoblins. But I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to believe it. I just...I just wanted us to all have one peaceful day.” </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link nodded sagely. “And how do you feel?” </p><p> </p><p>The hero stared thoughtfully at Dark Link, lips fluttering as he talked silently to himself. Dark Link could hear the boy's thoughts echoing in the empty air -- should I confide in her? I'll probably never see her again, and she's been so kind...there's nothing to really be afraid of -- and tried not to shiver too much from the excitement. The Hero of the Four Sword, level headed and seemingly unbreakable, was considering asking <em> him </em> for advice. </p><p> </p><p>This was ironically tragic, at least from the boy’s perspective. </p><p> </p><p>"If there's anything on your mind," Dark Link cooed, "I'm here to listen. Your secret will stay with me. Tell me, how do you feel?" </p><p> </p><p>Unlike the heros and their fondness for lies both white and black, Dark Link was telling the truth. Whatever the Hero of the Four Sword was considering divulging would truly stay between them -- now and forever. </p><p> </p><p>"I feel...uh...frustrated. Disappointed. I should probably talk it out with the others, just so there’s no misunderstandings between us. I know I should, but I don’t…” </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t want to?” Dark Link offered. The hero looked up, eyes locking with the woman's. Dark Link nearly flinched from the intensity of it. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t. I know I should. Things are only going to keep worse if I keep quiet, but it’s all I can do right now.” </p><p> </p><p>The crack had widened into a gulley. Dark Link could barely breathe from all the power coursing through him. </p><p> </p><p>"May I give you some advice?” The hero nodded. Dark Link continued. “Don’t go to any great lengths to confess. You haven’t done anything wrong. Everyone is alright. Perhaps telling them you knew what would happen all along would only bring more pain. I’ve only known you and your traveling companions for a few hours, but I can already sense that they’re a sensitive group. Hurt emotions can be as dangerous as hurt bones. It might be better to suffer in silence for a little while than pour your pain out to them. You're a strong man, and I have full faith in your ability to overcome the things plaguing you now." </p><p> </p><p>The advice settled like a poisoned candy apple in Four’s mouth, and Dark Link watched breathlessly as the young man mused. Despite his attempts again and again, Dark Link couldn't find a way to break this hero. What a strange boy he was -- so unlike his other reincarnations. Each of the other heroes had an obvious weakness, a dangerous infatuation. The Chosen Hero had his beloved. The Hero of Time had his wife, the symbol of his newfound stability. The Hero of the Winds had his freedom, the Hero of Twilight had his hometown, and the Hero of Warriors had a young, loyal army waiting for him back at home. The Hero of Hyrule and the Hero of the Wild had their future and their people and the sad goddesses that oversaw them. But what did this one have? His attachments were few and far in between, and even though he had yet to notify the hero of the convenient disappearance of his grandfather, he had a feeling that the event would only bend not break him. He had long since resigned himself to the fact that breaking this hero and turning his vices into strength would be a war of attrition. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link's fingers itched with newfound power when the light of acceptance flickered in the hero's eyes. </p><p> </p><p>He had taken the bait. </p><p> </p><p>"Thank you, ma'am," the hero murmured, slipping out of his seat and pushing the chair in. "I really appreciate that you took the time to talk to me. I'll have to think about what you said. Thank you again. Oh, and goodnight!" </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link returned the boy's pleasantries and watched quietly as he crawled into bed. Moonlight filtered through the window as Dark Link returned his attention to the unwashed dishes. </p><p> </p><p>He had learned a tremendous amount from this little escapade. The Hero of the Wild and the Hero of Twilight were already falling, and the Hero of Hyrule was hot on their heels. The Chosen Hero, Hero of Warriors, and Hero of the Winds would have their turns in the very very near future, and the Hero of Legend was already crumbling without his input. That Malon girl was probably in the possession of King Bulbin's army at this point, so all that was left to do was draft a letter notifying the Hero of Time of such. It would have to be written in the hand of the woman he was currently <strike>possessing</strike> piloting, or perhaps some other stuttering, stammering civilian that the hero’s god complex made him feel responsible for. It would be best to hand the letter to the postman once the heroes had made it through the portal tomorrow morning -- he had to go set that up sometime later that night -- and then the Hero of Time's fate would be sealed. </p><p> </p><p>And as for the Hero of the Four Sword…</p><p> </p><p>The city lights of Kakariko Village sparkled with midnight dust, and the shadow smiled to himself. </p><p> </p><p>Suffice to say, working overtime tonight had been more than worth it. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There we go! I think this is the longest chapter so far, so I really hope you all enjoyed! There might not be an update next week since I'm really busy prepping some big updates for another fic I have, but I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter anyway! </p><p>Please don't be afraid to leave a comment if you had anything you wanted to share with me! I cherish each and every comment I get, and they really encourage me to keep writing. No pressure of course, though! As long as you enjoyed the story, I'm happy! </p><p>Thank you once again for reading this story! I hope this chapter and the next will continue to be worth your time!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. True Believer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dark Link has a ring on his finger. </p><p>Smith has questions about it.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you’re a true believer<br/>If you’re a true believer<br/>Love will come around<br/>Love will come around for us</p><p>◢ ◤ "True Believer" - Avicii ◢ ◤</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dark Link swirled his spoon through his soup. Each movement left little tears in the cloth-like layer of cream floating atop the dish, like ripples on a pond, and diced herbs clung like frogs to the sides of the bowl. Dark Link brought a spoonful of the pumpkin soup to his mouth and furrowed his eyebrows at the taste. It was warm and heavy -- too heavy. Perhaps he should have gone a little lighter on the cream. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You really made this yourself?" Smith exclaimed, his own spoon dangling from the side of his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link nodded, his focus shifting away from himself and towards the happy old man in front of him. Smith prattled on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're an amazing cook. What's the secret ingredient to this? I can taste the pumpkin...and maybe a little bit of goat cream too...but everything else is beyond me. C'mon, what's the secret? Onions, maybe?" Smith leveled his spoon with his eyes, face twisted in almost comical focus. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not even a flicker of an expression flitted across Dark Link's face; he had no intention of revealing that his "secret ingredient" was really only onion and garlic. What else would it be? The recipe was a simple one he had picked up from Ordon Village that day at work -- frankly, it was no surprise that the rich flavoring came from something so simple. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A breeze blew through the rooftop terrace. Clouds skittered over the dome of the sky, urged along by the cool gust, and birds sailed over the crest of the wind. Smith shivered, and Dark Link noticed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you cold?" Dark Link asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No," Smith immediately replied. He shoved another spoonful of soup into his mouth and wiped the orange scrim from his upper lip. "Well, maybe a little bit." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link nodded his head and turned his focus back to his food. Smith glanced at the faux-fur jacket Dark Link was wearing, but the shadow made no move to remove it or hand it off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence was awkward only for Smith. Dark Link had already lost himself in thought, staring at the soup as if the answers to all his eternal questions were written on the surface of the grease. Another breeze blew. Smith let out a rattling cough, and Dark Link was snapped out of his thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That cough...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was always muffled behind a fist, always a bit watery, and always worrisome. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dark Link shook away the last thought. The old man was bound to get a cold if he sat in that cell all day. Despite all the heated blankets and new mattresses that Dark Link had bought for him (not out of compassion, of course, but logical necessity -- having prisoners die from neglect wasn't something he was interested in adding to his reputation) hadn't been enough. He had expected their warm dinner on the rooftop's terrace to be some modicum of assistance, but the wind only seemed to be agitating Smith's lungs further. As if on cue, the old man let out another rattling cough. Maybe it wasn't a cold...perhaps it was Zorapox? Had the old man ever received his inoculation? Hmm. Perhaps they hadn't been invented in his time. No matter. If the issue persisted, Dark Link would take him to a clinic during the Hero of Twilight's time. They had a surplus of inoculations, judging from a few conversations he had with the locals that day at work, and it shouldn't take too long. Only a moment, really. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You look lost in thought," Smith piped up. "What are you thinking about?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a heartbeat of grease-stained silence. Dark Link let his spoon rest against the rim of his bowl and decided that saying the truth would save him more time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You," Dark Link answered plainly. "That cough of yours is unpleasant. Do you have any idea what caused it?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Smith's host had answered a question this plainly last week or the week before, Smith might have been surprised. Yet, to Smith, Dark Link's sudden and unpredictable bluntness was now neither of those things. The old man only nodded as he mulled over the question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I get a bad cough every now and then," Smith began. "Nothing to worry about, really. It's sort of a chronic thing, I think. Usually starts up during the fall and goes away during spring. My wife used to make all sorts of concoctions to help my throat, but I've forgotten the recipes for all of them. It's okay, though. I don't think it'll be a problem for much longer." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith winked as he took another spoonful of soup. Dark Link's eyebrows flickered upwards. It wasn't uncommon for the old man to make jabs at his own mortality, but coupled with such joviality and the strange conditions of his illness, it was fair grounds for curiosity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And maybe a little bit of concern. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only a little, though. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Birds twittered overhead. Dark Link pushed his glasses farther up his nose as he watched the old man eat. A chronic cough that only came about during the winter months? Strange. The shadow had studied his fair share of anatomy -- Zoran, Hylian, even Goron -- and considered it safe to say that he was more knowledgeable than most about epidemiology. Yet even he had never heard of such a thing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link's face remained expressionless as he thought. He found himself only half-listening when the man coughed again and resumed his incessant dialogue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"...probably first got it sometime when I was a teenager, back when I worked in the 16th Infantry Regiment. Now that was a long time ago. Long, long time ago. You know, even though I would have never admitted it back then, I probably shouldn't have joined. The army, I mean. I don't regret it! But I don't think it was the wisest decision. I just wanted to get away from my house and prove myself as something other than a blacksmith." Smith chuckled, coughed, and continued.  "Anyway, it was something like forty or fifty years ago when this whole coughing thing started up. I don’t remember when it happened, but I remember exactly why. The Hylian army was on its way back from doing some ho-hum autumn task in another country. Everything was going fine, except for the fact that our return started about two months late. The vanguard wound up caught in the middle of a blizzard. It was...well, it was pretty bad. While I was lucky enough to survive, I think a little bit of the blizzard still rattles around in my lungs. Maybe the cough is just a memory from those nights. My wife used to say it was all in my head. My son said the same thing, but then he went to the army and the same thing happened to him. I never got to ask my grandson what he thinks. I'm sure he knows the truth of things better than I do, haha! He's always like that, my grandson. Knowing things that I don’t and figuring out things that I can’t...he's a wonderful lad." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link nodded and filed the information at the back of his head (Hero of the Four Sword: aware, possibly skeptical of his grandfather's condition?). Smith, seemingly full on the indulgence in his memories, turned his focus back to his food. It was strange to think that the old man before him had a past, even though the long grey beard and thoughtful smile and cloudy cataracts (he should probably get those checked out when they went to the clinic as well) spoke to the contrary.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Thinking again, Dark Link?" Smith asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shadow crossed one leg over the other and straightened his posture. "Your past. What was it like?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith chuckled. "Is this the part in our friendship where we bond and share backstories? About time, honestly. But I must say I had no idea a warm dinner could make you so soft, Dink." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do not call me that." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, you're so funny! Very well. I'll share my story, as long as you do, too." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I have no stories to share." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith huffed and crossed his arms. "Of course you do! Didn’t you say once that you're centuries old? And you can travel through time! You must have heard about some cool things during your adventures." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Dark Link's turn to snort and turn up his nose. "Second hand stories are cheap."  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a rainbow sparkle in Smith's eye as he placed his head in his hands and grinned. A necklace dangled from the old man’s neck. Dark Link had never noticed it before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, so?” Smith teased. “So you don't want mine, then?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hmph. Second hand doesn't necessarily mean bad; not in this situation, at least."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith sat up straight, nearly knocking the table over as he did. A wide smile spread across his face. "Then it's a deal!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Deal? We haven't agreed to anything ye--" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"My story only really began once I met my wife. I was a young soldier in the army. She was a cook at the castle. We crossed paths a couple of times, and eventually we started talking more...and more...and eventually we got married." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link raised an eyebrow. "That quickly? I had heard that there was more to the courtship process." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith shrugged. "Maybe for the others. Not for us. We were simple people, you know. Anyway, we married and had a little girl. Sheila. She died. Crib death, that's what the doctor said. Never even learned to crawl, poor girl. You know, Dink, she was just the prettiest little thing -- such lovely eyes. It's always the eyes, you know. Those are the things about a person that can really stick with you. She used to talk to us with her eyes only. Pretty, pretty, pretty little thing."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith stopped to take a sip from his soup. Dark Link leaned forward, searching for cracks in the blacksmith's serene expression, but found only an unshakable peace beneath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We had a boy soon after," Smith continued. "Nesso. That was his name. Nesso, oh, he was just the quickest lad ever. In everything. He ran quickly, he slept quickly, he ate quickly, he even laughed quickly. He grew up in four, no, three days. That's what it felt like, anyway. He had grown up and married before I had a single grey hair on my head, and he joined the army before my wife had a single wrinkle on her face. Went missing soon after. It was horrible, you know.  They never found him. His wife died from the heartbreak. My wife did too. It was okay, though. I let them go. Roses for Nesso's lady, chrysanthemums for my wife. I was the only one at their funeral." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pink fell away from the sky, leaving only a hard coat of indigo sparkling overhead. The two sat in silence, one lost in memories, the other in calculation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link had read about things like this from books, where main characters swapped tales of their lives and grew closer as a result. Usually the dialogue followed a strange rhythm, back and forth, like a child’s swing. Dark Link never understood it, and he never tried to. Rhythms could be what they were, but he had no intention in indulging in them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An expectant silence hung between them, as if Dark Link was supposed to say something, but not a word pierced the air. Smith drummed his fingers against the table and continued. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It was sad for me. I was all alone, now, with this little boy to raise. Link, you know him. He's a good boy. I'm telling you, Dink, he's a good, kind, strong boy. You know," Smith continued, "if Sheila had talked through her eyes, Link sang through them. He was so quiet but so loud at the same time. Always wanting to do something, anything, everything. He grew up even faster than Nesso -- already a man at sixteen years old. But you already know that."  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence in the air turned from expectant to strangely sharp. Dark Link brushed the invisible glass off his arms and stared down at Smith, still searching and still failing to find a falter in the man's expression. Dark Link filed the incident at the back of his mind and stamped it with red ink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Anyway," the blacksmith asked, "how has work been?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Work has been fine."  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the first time that night, Smith's cheerful mask slipped. The corners of his lips flickered downward, and his eyebrows pressed together in a distressed v. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're not telling me the truth," the blacksmith murmured. "You haven't been coming home on time, lately. How many overnight shifts are you supposed to work? I know that your body is different from mine in more ways than just age, but overworking isn't good for anyone." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something hot and sharp grazed its teeth along the back of Dark Link's neck. What was up with this old man? How was this any of his business? What a fool. His schedule was his and his alone, and the only person he needed to remain accountable to was himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith repeated his question, leaning forward across the table with sharp eyes. Dark Link waved him away with a spoon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't worry yourself about it," Dark Link replied, his voice as pretty and ice-cold as it always was. "Sometimes the shifts are necessary." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hmmmmm...well, in that case, have you been taking care of yourself? Have you been sleeping? Or eating?"  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I am a spirit. I don't need to do either of those things," Dark Link said, dragging his spoon along the edge of his bowl and collecting the last remaining drops of soup. "But the answer is yes. To both. And it's none of your business.' </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith nodded thoughtfully. "Alright then. How about fun?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fun?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"When was the last time you did something for fun, Dink?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't call me that." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith grinned. "Oh don't be such a sourpuss. Now tell me, when was the last time you relaxed?"  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying not to let his spoon clang too loudly against the porcelain bowl when no answer came to mind. Something...for fun. Could his work count as fun? He did it for himself, after all. And his vocation was by no means a bad one. He rather enjoyed it, all things considered, despite the toll it took on--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're thinking too much again," Smith cut in. "Fun -- just anything you've done to keep yourself happy that doesn't have to do with work or chores." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link pressed his back against his chair and held his chin high. "I don't need your definitions, Old Man. This morning 5:30am - 5:45am, I allowed myself to clean some miscellaneous things in my room. I enjoyed it, and it was fun." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last word sat strangely at the end of his sentence, and Dark Link wished he could swallow it back into his mouth. Smith chuckled and shook his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Only 15 minutes? Of cleaning? That doesn't count as relaxation to me." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link tried not to roll his eyes as he sipped the last of his soup. An empty porcelain bowl winked back at him, and Dark Link snapped his fingers off to the side. A guard ran up to the table, hurriedly taking away his plate and replacing it with a tall glass of fizzy water. Dark Link held the cup delicately in his hand as he returned his focus back to Smith. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Cleaning calms me down," Dark Link explained. "I don't see why any of this is so important to you."  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I just wanted to check on you, you know. Grandpa's intuition!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're not my grandfather." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, Dink, when you get to be my age, you can basically be anyone and everyone's grandfather." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I am at least two millenia older than you. And don’t call me that," Dark Link replied. Smith laughed, and Dark Link took a sip of his drink. Ah, it was mango-flavored. Not his favorite, but not too bad. He glanced down at the table and noticed that the guard had brought Smith the wrong drink. He turned around in his seat and snapped his fingers again. The phantom guard cringed at the noise, turning around slowly to meet Dark Link's inevitable wrath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You got his order wrong," Dark Link barked, "Mint lemonade. Mint. In what universe does the word mint sound like strawberry to you?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The phantom guard shrunk inward and hurried back to the table. Dark Link muttered under his breath as the guard walked away with the unwanted strawberry lemonade in hand. His mutterings grew darker when he heard the phantom guard mumble something rude under his breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You didn't have to be so harsh on him," Smith said, his eyes trained on the guard's retreating form. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He got the order wrong. He should have been paying better attention," Dark Link spat in return. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The terrace door slammed shut. Dark Link's face scrunched with irritation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I get no respect around here!" Dark Link hissed, his voice higher than he wanted it to be. "How many times do I have to tell them not to slam the door? And I swear to Hylia and all her sisters that I just heard him swear at me under his breath. Fools, all of them. I don't have the time or energy to go around replacing all the door hinges because some armored idiots can't remember to treat them properly." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone let out a tired exhale. It wasn't Dark Link. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Listen," Smith began, his voice uncharacteristically mellow, "you cannot expect your subordinates to treat you with respect if you don't also do the same to them. If you want respect, you must also give it." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The air grew cold. Distant hinges complained, and the far-away sounds of the city echoed through the air. Dark Link uncrossed his legs and took another sip of his drink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't tell me what to do," he finally responded. There was no authority in his voice -- it must have washed away with his fizzy mango drink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm not telling you what to do," Smith whispered. "I'm only giving you advice. It's yours to take or leave." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smothering silence from earlier returned in full force, only broken by the sound of the phantom guard returning with Smith's mint lemonade. The old man beamed and thanked the guard profusely, even patting the armored beast on the arm before he left. The guard seemed to shrink inward once again, but no harsh words were muttered under his breath as he left the terrace. Both Smith and Dark Link watched the guard go, then turned to glance at each other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing was said. They sipped mango fizz and mint lemonade as they thought, eyes trailing the clouds overhead and minds trying not to think too hard. The ring on Dark Link's left finger grew cold from the glass and sparkled with borrowed condensation. Smith's eyes caught on the glint and widened appropriately. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, that's a lovely ring," Smith said, gesturing to the silver band on Dark Link's finger. "Where did you get it from?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link had expected the first comment; he had prepared for it, too. And knowing Smith's inquisitive nature, he should have expected the second, yet it still caught him by surprise. The shadow looked down at the ring when Smith repeated his question (for someone as old and assumedly wise as the blacksmith, one would expect him to have more patience). </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith had been right when he called the ring beautiful. Twin cords of intertwining white and blue platinum twisted around his left ring finger. Tiny crystals sat in the small spaces between the threads, sparkling like pearls in the low light. A shining diamond balanced atop the ring, glowing an elegant pink as it reflected the sky above. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a woman's ring. Smith would have noticed that already, and acknowledging the fact wouldn't have stifled the man's curiosity. Dark Link twisted his hand and watched as the diamond shone brighter and crazier, his mind growing loud. How much should he say? His thoughts twisted and banded together like the ring's platinum. Why not? Why not just say the truth? Talking always had a way of clearing his mind. He was far more accustomed to speaking with a reflection in the mirror, frankly, he was only used to speaking to a reflection in the mirror, but perhaps ruminating now instead of later would save him some time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he could always just kill Smith if the man threatened to say anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's a beautiful ring. Wow, what delicate craftsmanship," Smith mumbled, pulling Dark Link's hand up to his eyes so he could better scrutinize the ring. "I haven't seen engraving this detailed in years. What's written here? I can barely read it. Such small letters...you know, I always forget how bad my eyes are up until the moment I have to read something. Hey, are you listening?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link nodded, more to himself than in response to Smith's question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The ring belongs to a girl," Dark Link said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith's eyes snapped upward. He held Dark Link's gaze with titanium intensity, but the shadow didn't so much as flinch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Donatella. That was her name."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Was?" Smith whispered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link said nothing. The old man's eyes grew wide. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh Hylia, what did you do to her?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ring glittered in the low light, sparkling with the promise of a beautiful future and the ghost of a rotten memory. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I didn't kill her, if that's what you were wondering. But perhaps it would have been kinder if I did." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sky went from indigo to black. Starlight reflected off the smoky surface of Dark Link's skin, and the crimson glint in his eyes softened to something that was almost pink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It was her engagement ring," Dark Link whispered. "From me."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And there we go! I really hope you enjoyed! I'm so sorry about updating a day late; I haven't been feeling too well recently, but I wanted to get this chapter out as soon as I could. </p><p>Please don't be afraid to leave a comment if you have any questions or thoughts! And if you noticed a typo or have some other form of constructive criticism, I'll be glad to hear it; I'm always trying to get better! </p><p>Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thank you so much for following the story so far, and I hope that you will continue to enjoy the chapters to come!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Broken Arrows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sixteen. </p><p>It's a special number to Four, Smith, and Dark Link, but for different reasons.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Now as you wade through shadows that live in your heart<br/>You'll find the light that leads home<br/>Cause I see you for you and your beautiful scars<br/>So take my hand, don't let go</p><p>Cause it's not too late, it's not too late<br/>I, I see the hope in your heart<br/>And sometimes you lose and sometimes you're shooting<br/>Broken arrows in the dark<br/>But I, I see the hope in your heart</p><p>◢ ◤ "Broken Arrows" - Avicii ◢ ◤</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Smith woke up thinking about dandelions and the number sixteen. </p><p> </p><p>He's fond of it -- sixteen, that is. It was the number of fancy cups he had in his cabinet, the number of iron bars he kept at the back of his shed, the number of work boots he had worn through in the years before he had retired and the number of tulips he had growing on his front porch. It was the age he had been when he met his wife, the age his son had been when he joined the Royal Guard, and the age his grandson was now. </p><p> </p><p>It was also the number of days that Smith had been a...surprise guest at Dark Link's residence. </p><p> </p><p>He stilled for a moment, eyes half-closed and mind half-asleep, and wondered what to do with this fact. He held the thought in the palm of his mind like one would a pretty stone, thumbing the tangled mass of feelings on the underside of its smooth surface as he tried to work through them. His thoughts were wet with thoughtfulness, like moss growing on top of a forest stone, and he turned the fact over in mind again. At last, his mind grew content, and he slipped the stone into his metaphorical back pocket. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen. It had always been a good number, and he decided that it would continue to be. </p><p> </p><p>With this happy new conviction, Smith smiled and snuggled into the warm spot in the mattress' corner. His eyelids grew heavy. The beating of his heart fell to a rhythmic bump, and his mind grew quiet. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe he would treat himself to another half hour of sleep....</p><p> </p><p>The wall-mounted lamps suddenly flared to life. Smith groaned. A heavy fist banged against the door and shattered the lazy morning lull. </p><p> </p><p>"The Boss will be here in 30 minutes. Make sure to get changed."  </p><p> </p><p>With a groan and a grumble, Smith heaved himself out of bed. The cool floor stung his feet. Weak lamplight with no warmth cast a thin sheet of yellow over the room, and his reflection, sleepy and confused, stared back at him from the warped metal mirror. Smith flashed it a thumbs-up.  </p><p> </p><p>After taking a small sip of water from the cup by his bed, Smith kneeled down by his flower pot and poured the rest over the dandelions. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the dandelion leaves had taken on a sickly, beige tinge. Smith ran his fingers over the plants and winced when a chunk of leaf flaked away under his touch. </p><p> </p><p>They were sick, poor things. </p><p> </p><p>Smith glanced upwards at the lamps on the walls and shook his head. The cheap circles of canary light they gave off would never be a proper substitute for the sun. Smith sighed. The dandelions had no hope of growing in this dark, cold place; they belonged in pretty meadows and dainty gardens where their only worry would be if it rained or not that day. His affection would not be enough to keep them alive. </p><p> </p><p>A heaviness pressed down on his shoulders as he stood up to wash his face. He combed his beard with his fingers as he slipped on his new favorite jacket -- a bright blue one with little roses embroidered on the sides. One of the phantom guards had made it as a gift after Smith had taught him how to crochet and embroider. The stitching on the jacket was a bit haphazard, with one sleeve longer than the other, and the embroidered roses looked more like pink blobs than flowers, but Smith cherished it nonetheless. Giving crocheting lessons in low, hushed whispers through the wall had proved to be just as difficult as it sounded, but the fact that his student had applied the things Smith had tried to teach him through inflection alone was enough to make him smile. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe one day he could get Dark Link into crocheting as well. </p><p> </p><p>Smith placed a pair of glasses on his nose and took a seat on the beanbag chair in the corner. He pulled his drawing pad and paints out from under the bed -- a gift Dark Link had given him for "behaving" while he was at work -- and wet the paintbrush tip with his tongue. He painted idly as he thought. Sixteen days. That was...a number...and certainly one higher than he had expected it to be. Dark Link hadn't killed him yet, which was very kind of him, but it was clear that the shadow didn't intend to release him soon, either. Smith sighed and furrowed his eyebrows. There was no doubt that his host was waiting for something, something to do with his grandson, he assumed, but when and how this thing would come about, Smith didn't know.</p><p> </p><p>Smith sighed. Dark Link's visits had become shorter and more sporadic over the past few days. Sometimes he would return home from work at the smallest hours of the morning, dress heels clicking on tile like vulture’s claws. The daily conversations they had about Link every morning had lost their casual drawl and had now become rushed, timed, and calculated. Smith shivered. The way Dark Link now spoke to him was still gentle, yet his words were pointed and bristling with agenda. Smith couldn’t help feeling like a drunkard being interrogated by a constable. </p><p> </p><p>Minutes passed. Smith's eyes flickered from the drawing pad to the door, awaiting any signal of Dark Link's approach. He should be there any minute now...even though their breakfast conversations weren't as casual as they once had been, Dark Link had never skipped out on a single one. </p><p> </p><p>Smith forced himself to turn his attention back to his paintings, but they were now small and half-hearted. Flowers went without petals. Ladybugs were colored purple and blue, their spots forgotten. The sun was accidentally painted green instead of yellow, and Smith forgot three times in a row to wet the brush tip with his tongue. Chunks of paint sat sadly on the paper as Smith regressed into thought. </p><p> </p><p>Where was Dark Link?</p><p> </p><p>Was he alright? </p><p> </p><p>He placed the paintbrush down and swallowed his own breathing, eyes straining for a sound of life on the other side of the cell door. Nothing. </p><p> </p><p>He counted to sixteen. Nothing. </p><p> </p><p>He counted to sixteen sixteen times, and still, there was nothing. </p><p> </p><p>It was a rumbling stomach that finally motivated him to move. Dark Link's morning visits always brought with them breakfast and mint lemonade, and the absence of all three was growing exponentially unsettling. A troubled heart was one thing to contend with, but paired up with an empty stomach, Smith had no chance. </p><p> </p><p>Smith folded up his drawing pad and clasped his paint case shut, then slid both items under the bed. His vertebrae clinked and clattered like xylophone tiles as he stood up and hobbled over to the door. He raised his knuckles to rap against the solid steel slab. It swung open before he could even touch it. </p><p> </p><p>The phantom guard's figure filled up almost the entire door frame. A long, rusty scar lay across the guard's breastplate armor, and Smith smiled at the familiar face (or, well, the familiar set of armor). </p><p> </p><p>"I'm wearing the jacket you made me," Smith began, gesturing to the bright-blue sweater he had on. "It fits me perfectly. You're getting better at crocheting every day! Maybe you should start teaching some of the guards who work on the lower floors -- you might be able to make a few rupees if you start giving classes." </p><p> </p><p>The guard seemed a bit smaller now, having shrunken into himself with the weight of the praise. He stammered out a thank you and hurriedly passed Smith a plate. The blacksmith took it with raised eyebrows and a half-open mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Breakfast. </p><p> </p><p>There were three pancakes on it instead of the usual two. There was an extra strawberry, an additional dollop of whipped cream, and what looked like twice the amount of his normal serving of rice pudding. The surprise and confusion on his face must have shown, because the guard cowered lower in the doorway and leaned closer. </p><p> </p><p>"The Boss sends his regards," the guard began. "He won't be able to come and visit you today, but he says he hopes the extra breakfast will compensate for the sudden change of plans." </p><p> </p><p>Smith nodded, his worries partially assagued, and told the guard that he returned Dark Link's well wishes. The cell door swung shut as Smith took a seat on his bean bag chair. He pondered about dandelions and the number sixteen as syrup and sugar slid down his throat. His stomach grew full and tight. His eyelids drooped downwards the way they always did when he ate too well and too quickly, but the sleepy warmth that usually came with it was absent. </p><p> </p><p>He cast a glance at the dandelions. They shivered in the cold, and Smith nodded in sympathy. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm worried about him too," he whispered. "I hope he's alright. Both of them, you know." </p><p> </p><p>He idly tapped a finger against his collarbone as his mind grew louder. The small, interlocking chains of his necklace snagged on his anxious movements, and the necklace was pulled out from under his jacket as a result. </p><p> </p><p>Smith scratched his chin as he held the necklace charm up to his eyes. It was one of the few things Smith had arrived with that he hadn't yet lost or misplaced -- and it was a good thing too; if he ever lost the little thing, he wasn't sure what he would do with himself. </p><p> </p><p>Yet, in all honesty, the charm was remarkably ugly. It was swaddled in a thick layer of tissue wrap and sealed off from the world under numerous pieces of tape. The charm looked more like a discarded handkerchief hanging from a necklace than an actual charm. Smith smiled wistfully.  He wondered if his grandson would be angry with him if he figured out what lay underneath the tissue wrap. </p><p> </p><p>A draft seeped through the stone walls. Smith shivered as he pulled back a few layers of tissue wrap. A sword shard sparkled beneath it. It winked in the dim light, and Smith winked back. </p><p> </p><p>"Hmmm, it might be a bit too much for just today, don't you think?" Smith thought aloud. The dandelions nodded in the stone-cold draft, and Smith hummed in response. He tucked his necklace back under his shirt, then trailed his fingers along the stone wall. His fingertip caught on the sharp edge of a paperclip he had stuffed between cracks in the mortar. He carefully pulled out the hot-pink paperclip and placed it in his palm.</p><p> </p><p>"This will have to do, I suppose," Smith said, straightening out the paperclip until it was a long, thin string of metal. He stood up with a huff, grabbing the flower put as he did, and stuck the paperclip into the door's lock. With a few now-familiar flicks of his wrist, the locked popped open and the door swung aside. Smith slipped the paperclip into his back pocket as he stepped out. </p><p> </p><p>A phantom guard turned to look at him. He was a different one from earlier (this one had a scuff on his left pauldron, identifying him as the guard Smith had been giving music theory lessons to), but no less amicable than the others. The guard waved to Smith, and Smith waved back. </p><p> </p><p>"You know, you can always just ask me if you want me to open the door for you." </p><p> </p><p>Smith laughed at the guard's suggestion. "I know, I know. But it makes me feel young and rebellious to open the door myself." </p><p> </p><p>The guard shook his head fondly. </p><p> </p><p>"Where are you off to today, Mr. Smith? Going to try and follow The Boss around again? I'm not sure how good of an idea that would be, especially considering how close you got to being caught yesterday." </p><p> </p><p>Smith shivered at the memory, then shook his head. "No boss-following today, no. Yesterday was scary! I just want to get these dandelions some sunlight, and see how the guards on the second floor are doing. I haven't spoken to them this week. Oh, before I go, do you have anything I could wear?" </p><p> </p><p>The guard nodded. He stood up, walked down the hall, and returned with a set of armor some of the guards had tailor-made for Smith. It was indistinguishable from the ones the phantom guards wore -- camouflage of the highest order. Smith quickly slipped it on and thanked the guard as he put on his helmet. </p><p> </p><p>"Thank me by not getting caught, Mr. Smith. You know The Boss will have my head if he figures out about this." </p><p> </p><p>Smith nodded and winked, and even though both their faces were covered by metal visors, he knew the guard winked back. </p><p> </p><p>+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++</p><p> </p><p>Glasses clinked. Tinny music played from across the bar. The sound of the hotel's other patrons coming and going creaked overhead, and the smell of cream and spirits filled the air. </p><p> </p><p>Four pillowed his face in his hands and ran his fingers along the rim of a shotglass. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen. </p><p> </p><p>That was the number of shotglasses sitting in front of Four. Their sides were all cloudy with milk -- the bartender had refused to give him anything else -- and greasy fingerprints shone against the glass. Four carded his hand through his hair. On any other day, in any other situation, he would have been long asleep. He had fought and bled, been bandaged and fed, and his body was screaming for the rest it thought it deserved. Four scissored his fingers through a snarl of hair at the back of his head, but the pain did little to distract him. He ran a hand over his face.</p><p> </p><p>It felt strange to be alone. It wasn't surprising that he was, considering the hour he was up and the location he was at, but it was odd nonetheless. He had grown used to constantly being in the company of others. Four flicked a shotglass over and watched it roll across the countertop, ignoring the bartender's pointed glare. Perhaps he should be grateful that none of the others had seen him slip out of the hotel room and into the establishment’s downstairs bar. It would probably result in him being asked more questions than he could answer, and, quite honestly, that wasn't a situation any of them had the emotional capacity for. </p><p> </p><p>Four stuck his pinky into one of the shotglasses and watched a drop of milk dribble down from his fingertip and into his palm. The bartender gave him a strange look but said nothing, the book in his hands evidently more interesting than the strange bedraggled boy with his sixteen shotglasses of milk. </p><p> </p><p>The smithy wiped away the milk on his pants and rested his head back on the counter, mind drifting back to the events of that day. </p><p> </p><p>He had never known so much bad news could be delivered at once. </p><p> </p><p>The postman had come earlier that day, nearly doubled over with the load of mail he carried on his back. After he exchanged a flurry of greetings with the traveling heroes, he wiped the sweat from his brow and all but tossed them their letters. There had been something for everyone -- and a lot of it, too. Envelopes as thick as books were passed to each of them. Different seals and stamps and handwritings had helped them decode who's mail belonged to who, and after nearly thirty minutes of playing mix and match with the multicolored envelopes, the Links set off. They traded guesses about what their letters were about and laughed at the increasingly absurd scenarios Wind came up with. Even Four had snickered at Wind's suggestion that his grandmother had been named princess of the United Islands and that they were all invited to attend her coronation.</p><p> </p><p>Simply put, they had been excited. Excited, happy, and stupid. </p><p> </p><p>The memory grew sour in Four's mind. He shook his head and turned to the bartender. </p><p> </p><p>"Can I have another glass?" </p><p> </p><p>The bartender's perfectly shaped mustache twitched incredulously at Four's question. The man bookmarked a page in his book and turned to face the smithy. </p><p> </p><p>"Young man, would you prefer that I just pour the milk into a regular cup? You might need less refills if you--" </p><p> </p><p>"No. Another shotglass of milk, please.' </p><p> </p><p>The bartender grumbled something about teenagers and phases and cynicism before turning away and pouring Four another sip's worth of milk. The milk sparkled in the small glass as it slid across the table and stopped in the grip of Four's thumb and forefinger. He downed it in one gulp and turned his eyes to the window. </p><p> </p><p>Misery loves company -- Four had never really thought about how true that phrase was until today. </p><p> </p><p>They had all waited until they arrived in the hotel to open their letters. It was all smiles and laughter and snide comments as they slid letter openers through envelopes; the air had been tight with the expectation of pleasantly mundane news from home or perhaps a small trinket from family members. It took one look at the somber, cursive lettering of Time's letter to know that wasn't the case. </p><p> </p><p>Time's wife had been kidnapped. At the time the letter had been sent, she was still nowhere to be found. And that wasn’t all; Lon-Lon's most reliable supply chain had been attacked en route, resulting in nearly fatal injuries to everyone involved. In the wake of Talon's inability to manage damage control, Lon-Lon's reputation had plummeted and investors had hurried to sell their shares and distance themselves from the tragedy. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn't just Time. Sky's letter, written in Sun's loopy handwriting and dappled with teardrops, testified that his loftwing had gone missing and that Groose had been seriously injured in a training accident. Twilight let out a muffled gasp when he read that Ordon Village's crops had all been wiped out due to a fungal blight. And so it went. Tetra's ship had been marooned. A hoard of guardians had attacked Wild's Kakariko Village. Warrior's right-hand military advisor had been arrested for attempted treason. Aurora had fallen deathly ill. Ravio had been extradited to Lorule on five counts of tax evasion, tax avoidance, and civil fraud, and Legend's house had been repossessed by the Hylian government. </p><p> </p><p>They had laughed. They had all laughed in disbelief at the letters and the horrible news they contained, tossed them to the side with blue eyes brimming with refusal. They pretended like the letters had never come; they ate and slept and changed their bandages with fake smiles on their faces and overused jokes on their tongues. They took their emotions and folded them neatly and nicely, tucking them into the damp corners of their mind and hoping a forgetful mold would claim them before remembrance did. </p><p> </p><p>But the remembrance would come. The remembrance would come, and it would bend them and burn them and send spiderweb cracks along their stained glass souls, but it would not break them.</p><p> </p><p>The remembrance would not break them, because Four's letter remained fat and unopened at the top of his bag. </p><p> </p><p>He was going to burn it tomorrow. </p><p> </p><p>"Squirt, I don't know what's up with you, but we're going to have to close up soon. Get yourself up to bed." </p><p> </p><p>The bartender's words sent a flash of heat down Four's spine. He bit his lip and shot the bartender a venomous stare. </p><p> </p><p>"Go away, would you?" </p><p> </p><p>"Trust me, I would like to, but unfortunately I live here." </p><p> </p><p>Four buried his face into his arms and forced himself to fall asleep, partially to spite the bartender and partially to block out the thoughts thundering at the back of his mind. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen shotglasses, sixteen bad things, and one tragedy traded for another. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen chances for their group to fall apart, sixteen holes for their nobility to leak out of, and one person to hold it all together. </p><p> </p><p>Four fell asleep to a symphony of sixteens, dreaming of shotglasses of milk and stained glass windows. </p><p> </p><p>+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen separate plans, elaborate in their design yet simplistic in their intention. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen plans, explicit in their goal yet roundabout in their execution.</p><p> </p><p>Sixteen plans, each of them flawlessly executed. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link gazed in awe at the frozen room before him and drunk in the taste of a job well done. Snowflakes spiraled into the air like midnight dancers, catching on the white fingers of icicles before they could fall to the floor. Moats of half-melted diamonds sparkled beneath Dark Link's feet. A vague feeling of coolness permeated the smoke of his skin. The ice’s iridescence only proved what he already knew, only confirmed what he had calculated to come about, only validated the unparalleled amount of power roiling through his veins.  </p><p> </p><p>Another wave hit him. Dark Link doubled over, hands grasping a pillar of ice to keep him from falling. His body tightened and quivered with strength. HIs pupils dilated as they swallowed in colors he had never seen before, and his mechanical breaths came quicker and shorter. Frost laced his eyelashes as he pressed his hands further into the ice, watching as steam clouded into the air on contact with his magic. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen separate plans. Two for the Chosen Hero. Two for the Hero of Time. Two for the Hero of Twilight. Two for the Hero of the Winds. One for the Hero of the Wild, one for the Hero of Warriors, and four for the Hero of Hyrule. One for the Hero of Legend, and another for the Hero of the Four Sword. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen plans; they were only enough to bend, not break, but their goal was just in reach. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link exhaled slowly, his vision blurry with borrowed power and siphoned strength. The ice beneath his fingertips glowed gold from the power he had channeled into it. He panned his hand over its light, and the emptiness in his chest was full for a single moment. It was only a single moment, nothing more than a drop of experience in a sea of memories, yet it was enough to make him fall in love with his future all over again. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen plans, each falling into place like paint on a canvas. How much longer would he have to wait for the masterpiece to be completed? </p><p> </p><p>Another wave. The ice glowed gold from the channeled power, and Dark Link watched it coalesce into the middle of the room. He grinned softly. </p><p> </p><p>All he had to do now was be patient. He could already feel it in his bones -- their lies, their anger, their fear and mistrust -- it broiled within him like boiling water and warmed the smoke that constituted his being. If he was this strong before their vices had truly started to manifest, before the heroes had even reckoned with his plans... </p><p> </p><p>What is the sound of a heartbeat? How does one describe it with characters and ink and soundwaves carrying through expectant air? Dark Link had heard varying versions of the onomatopoeia, from the Hylian "ba-dum ba-dum" to the Gerudo "bar-bar-bar", yet all of them had fallen flat. There was no monosyllabic drawl that could truly encapsulate the sound. It was too many things, too many promises, too many hopes for a new life with a different name bundled into one sound.</p><p> </p><p>It was an injustice to try and describe it with one word. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link placed a hand over his chest and twisted the shadows beneath into knots. He let it pulse against his hand in cheap imitation of the one thing he wanted most. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen plans. </p><p> </p><p>Sixteen plans and one more, and his dream would finally come true. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There we go! This chapter was super fun to write for some reason, and I hope you guys all enjoyed reading it! Thank you all so so so much for the kindness and support this little story has received so far; I hope that the chapters to come will continue to be worth your time!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. For A Better Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Things become exponentially worse for Grandpa Smith.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Paint on a caution wind<br/>Meet the bleeding sky<br/>I called your name<br/>There was no one there<br/>And in the cold and snow<br/>I saw your face</p><p>And we sang the song for the little things<br/>Magic call, but the joy you bring<br/>Running it down the line<br/>Wish you could find that love is a fragile thing<br/>Magic call from a pretty thing<br/>Maybe it might be time<br/>For a better day </p><p>◢ ◤ "For A Better Day" - Avicii ◢ ◤</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Four knocked on the door to the bathroom. </p><p> </p><p>"Time?" </p><p> </p><p>There was no response, just like there hadn't been for the past hour. Four pressed a pointed ear to the door and slowed his breathing until it became inaudible. The only sounds on the other side were the shuffling of shoes, and, if Four focused hard enough, the rustling of letter paper. </p><p> </p><p>His blood clung to the walls of his heart as the realization dawned. </p><p> </p><p>He should have burned all the letters when he had the chance. </p><p> </p><p>Four knocked again. Nothing. The coolness of the hardwood floor on his bare feet started to itch. A mouse murmured between the floorboards. A disinterested glance at the window revealed a sky thick with gloomy clouds -- if it hadn't been for the hustling and bustling of people below, Four wasn't sure he would have known it was morning. </p><p> </p><p>Someone beyond the bathroom door coughed. Four's thoughts of chattering toddlers and farmers on their way to work melted away, and he became acutely aware of the film on his teeth and the aftertaste of milk on his tongue. He frowned the feeling away. He would get the chance to wash and clean up, he was sure, but there were far more pressing things to attend to at the moment.</p><p> </p><p>"Time? May you please let me in?" </p><p> </p><p>Silence. Four had spent enough time with its heroic namesake to know that the lack of response was an invitation to leave, but he kept knocking and asking. An aching web tied around his stomach and face and legs. With every unanswered knock, it grew tighter and cut into the soft flesh of his neck and arms. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Time, I'm here to help, why are you pushing me away? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Four's heart cracked, then stiffened with resolve. He raised his hand to rap on the bathroom door for what could have been anything from the third to sixteenth time, only to find the door pulled away and his knuckles resting on empty air. </p><p> </p><p>Time looked down from the doorway. </p><p> </p><p>For the first time, Four realized how small the eldest hero looked without his armor. </p><p> </p><p>"Thank you for your concern," Time said, his voice crushed in a monotone baritone, "but I really am alright. There's no need for you to worry." </p><p> </p><p>A shadow cast by oddly-shaped bangs hid Time's face. His spine was straight, his chin was level and his shoulders were pulled back in a way that made his chest look more muscular, but Four recognized it as the same tactic frightened kittens used to fend off curious village children. Four's blood was no longer ice, only cold water dripping from the mountains in the last days of summer. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Talk to me, Time, please, talk to me! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>They stared at each other, Time through a curtain of bangs and Four through quiet, calculating eyes that betrayed nothing beyond vague interest. After another moment of blue-on-blue and cold blood-water dripping through small veins, Time stepped outside the bathroom. He shifted awkwardly to the side and held the door open to Four, then gestured inside when the smithy didn't move. Four's eyes narrowed. </p><p> </p><p>"What are you doing that for?" Four questioned. </p><p> </p><p>Time balked. "Pardon?" </p><p> </p><p>"The door. Why are you holding open the door?" </p><p> </p><p>Time glanced at the door, then back at Four. Silence. Four refused to move and, for the first time, he caught a glimpse of the socially awkward man Malon had always claimed her husband to be. He instantly swept aside the thought of Time's wife. </p><p> </p><p>"Well?" Four asked, his half-glare half-gaze growing sharper. Time looked away, but not before Four could catch sight of red-rimmed eyes and a wet streak on the left side of his face. </p><p> </p><p>Time cleared his throat. "I assumed the reason you knocked was because you wished to use it? The bathroom, I mean." </p><p> </p><p>Four shook his head. "Not exactly." </p><p> </p><p>Time nodded and kept his gaze fixated on the farthest point in the room. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Why are you pushing me away? I want to help you! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Would you like to go on a walk?" Four asked. </p><p> </p><p>The words seemed to have the same effect as the toll of a death bell. Time blinked quickly, then shook his head with unusual vehemence. </p><p> </p><p>"I think I should prepare for the day ahead instead. Thank you, however." </p><p> </p><p>"Then let me help you," Four said. </p><p> </p><p>A dry chuckle rubbed against the wall like sandpaper. It took the smithy a moment to realize that it was Time's. </p><p> </p><p>"I don't think there's much you can do to help me brush my hair or put on my clothes. I may not be at my best state at the moment, but I'm no child. Perhaps it would be best if you got ready yourself."</p><p> </p><p>And once again, blue was on blue, calculating and dissecting and analyzing beyond a veil of unknowable motives. Time seemed to deflate under the intensity of Four's unreadable expression. His posture grew crooked, and Four shuffled forward to place a hand on Time's shoulder. They both flinched upon contact. </p><p> </p><p>"Give it to me," Four urged. </p><p> </p><p>"Give you what?" </p><p> </p><p>Four pointed to the letter in Time's hand. It was guiltily handed over.  </p><p> </p><p>"Give me everything else." </p><p> </p><p>Time's eye grew cool with confusion.  </p><p> </p><p>"I really don't understand--" </p><p> </p><p>"The things, Time, the things you are feeling -- give them to me." </p><p> </p><p>The redness in Time's eye darkened. His posture melted like candle wax into Four's arms, and he found himself all but propping the older hero up. For a moment, he wished the others were here instead of at the breakfast hall, but he wiped away the thought. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> One by one. Take it slow, one by one, and everything will come together. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"I can't," Time finally replied. </p><p> </p><p>"You can. Please. I know that I'm not a therapist or anything like that. I don't have any words that can fix everything for you. But you'll be doing yourself a huge favor by talking it out." </p><p> </p><p>Time shook his head. "This too shall pass. There's no need for you to worry about something so temporary." </p><p> </p><p>Four nodded in agreement, but the hand on Time's shoulder didn't move. "True, true, but things don't pass without leaving a mark. Listen, Time, you're safe. I'm safe. Give it to me. Two is better than one..." </p><p> </p><p>"...and a cord of three is not easily broken," Time recited, completing the maxim four had finished off on. The smithy nodded. The time would inevitably come where the group would need to discuss the letters together, but for now, the strength of two would be enough. </p><p> </p><p>"Time, I'm right here. You know me. I’m safe." </p><p> </p><p>The eldest hero murmured something to himself, then straightened. His eye gleamed a dark blue as he took a seat on his bed. Four hurried over, his hand still warm from the contact with Time's shoulder, and quickly took a seat on a chair by the bed. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Inhale.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Exhale. </em>  </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tic.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tok.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tic.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Tok.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>”Well, I suppose I should start from the beginning…”  </p><p> </p><p>+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ </p><p> </p><p>If Dark Link had been a lesser being, he might have been fuming. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps he would have slammed his hands into his desk, or fist fought the rice paper walls, or knocked the framed pictures off his wall in a fit of petulance. Maybe he would have let himself slide off schedule for the sake of wallowing in his fury, or spat a few curses and slapped around some of the bokoblins lazing about in the hallways. If he had been a lesser being, Dark Link might have paced across his room and muttered curses and hissed and monologued in that terribly unproductive way Ganon and Zant and Vaati and Ghirahim always did. </p><p> </p><p>But no, Dark Link didn't fume. He calculated and considered and ruminated. He analyzed and troubleshooted, stuck to his schedule, wore his new créme-colored tunic and brushed his hair back into a braid. Perhaps his most egregious departure from routine was the extra serving of whipped cream he put on his pancakes, but it was the only lapse in judgement he permitted himself to have as he waited for the bundle of flames in his chest to putter out. </p><p> </p><p>The Hero of the Four Sword. </p><p> </p><p>He was turning out to be a much bigger problem than Dark Link had originally accounted for. </p><p> </p><p>The shadow walked briskly back to his room, determined not to keep his consultant waiting for too long, but the memories of yesterday pounded through him regardless. </p><p> </p><p>The power had been coming in long, intense spasms. Everything smelled like storehoused energy and ice, and, as the hours passed, <em> it </em> had finally started to take shape. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link had never known what the physical manifestation of a soul might look like, but what he saw forming in the ice pleased him.  </p><p> </p><p>Hours passed, and the flow of energy had slowed to a trickle. In any other circumstance Dark Link might have accredited this to the odd hour or the warm denial that follows the first few days of receiving bad news, but the lapse in power was too significant to be chalked up to such things. </p><p> </p><p>He had been hardly surprised when he realized who the culprit was. </p><p> </p><p>Smith and his grandson -- those two were too complicated for their own good. </p><p> </p><p>Yet the smell of warm ice and a dream finally coming to fruition blossomed in Dark Link's nose as he speedwalked through the hallways. The faux-heartbeat in his chest slowed at the remembrance of the good things. They were close, much closer than they had been in his entire "life." He was almost there. Last minute delays were bound to arise irregardless of how meticulous his scheming had been. </p><p> </p><p>"No plan survives contact with the enemy" -- perhaps he would have done better to recall that earlier. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link opened the door to his bedroom, cast a glance at the sleepy-looking guards patrolling the hallway, and slipped inside. He took a seat at the long table he had set up in the middle of the room, steepled his fingers, and looked to the figure staring back at him. </p><p> </p><p>His companion was silent, but Dark Link was happy to see him anyway. </p><p> </p><p>"The Hero of the Four Sword is turning out to be quite an issue, isn't he?" the figure across the table began. </p><p> </p><p>"Quite." </p><p> </p><p>"Well, what do you suppose you should do?" </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link rested his head in his hands as he thought. His companion did the same, then spoke up when Dark Link had no words of his own to say. </p><p> </p><p>"He didn't open the letter, I assume?" </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link swallowed back a sigh. "I doubt he did. And even if he were to do so, I have a feeling that it wouldn't bend him far enough." </p><p> </p><p>"So, another plan, then?" </p><p> </p><p>"Yes, I imagine so." </p><p> </p><p>Silence. Dark Link relished the sound as his companion uncrossed his legs and then crossed them again. Dark Link did the same. </p><p> </p><p>"Perhaps some sort of injury?" his companion suggested. "A major injury might work, and it wouldn't be too difficult to pull off. We could have King Bulblin perhaps take a leg or arm off. The Hero of Hyrule's healing spell isn't regenerative, so he won't be able to create a new limb for the hero. It would be permanent in the best way." </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link considered the proposition for a moment, then shook his head at its obvious flaws. "The event would make him more dependent on the others, which is the opposite of what we're intending to accomplish."</p><p> </p><p>"Mmmm, I understand. Well, perhaps we could blind him?" </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link waved away the suggestion almost immediately. "Wrong fanfic. And wrong hero." </p><p> </p><p>His companion nodded, still undaunted. "Understandable. Perhaps a magical artifact?" </p><p> </p><p>"What do you propose?" Dark Link asked, his interest sufficiently piqued. </p><p> </p><p>"There are a lot of ways we could go about it. Perhaps we could have him burn or freeze himself on someone else's magic tools. Or maybe the route of psychological warfare would be better; imagine a magical artifact that would mess with his perception of the others, for example. Or better yet, his perception of himself. Those shouldn't be too difficult to create. You're a powerful spellcaster, after all. Perhaps a magical mirror, or something along those lines?" </p><p> </p><p>The idea rolled around in Dark Link's mind until it came back covered in flaws. "Absurd. That sounds like the premise of a too-long story with severe pacing issues. This story has only four chapters left; we can't drag this out for too long." </p><p> </p><p>If his companion was insulted by the harsh put-down of his suggestion, he didn't show it. </p><p> </p><p>"There is that Shadow fellow. We can do something with the Dark Mirror, I suppose." </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link shook his head partially out of habit and partially out of exasperation. "Shadow isn't canon."</p><p> </p><p>"I suppose that's true. A shame." </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link nodded in sympathy. "He was really quite interesting in the manga." </p><p> </p><p>"Quite." </p><p> </p><p>A cold moment of contemplative silence fell over the room. There was a flicker of purple from outside the window. Dark Link cast it a sharp glance, then curled his lower lip in disgust when he saw a storm brewing on the horizon. Perhaps it was a good thing that he had come home earlier. The rain promised to be violent enough to prevent any other late-night excursions or extra shifts, so maybe after this meeting Dark Link would be able to relax somewhere with a cup of tea. Granted that he was able to come to a conclusion about the Hero of the Four Sword situation, of course. </p><p> </p><p>His focus revitalized, Dark Link straightened his posture and furrowed his eyebrows. He cleared his throat as thunder boomed overhead. </p><p> </p><p>"It is critical that we find a way to compromise the Hero of the Four Sword’s spirit in such a way that it would make it harder for him to support the others. As long as he’s holding them together, I won’t be able to siphon enough energy from them to complete the soul’s creation. It doesn’t need to be anything exceptionally dramatic, but it does need to be long-lasting and serious.”  </p><p> </p><p>Thunder boomed again. The floor shook. Rain slammed against the windows and left iridescent teardrops against the glass. Dark Link bit his lip in annoyance. Rain. What a terrible sound, really. He would never understand the Hero of Time's fondness for it. The quiet warmth of sunlight was much superior to the monotonous droning of thunderstorms. </p><p> </p><p>"I think you already know what needs to be done," the figure across the table finally admitted. </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link's irritation with the rain grew. </p><p> </p><p>"I can't do that," the shadow bit back. </p><p> </p><p>"Why?" </p><p> </p><p>"...it's too dramatic." </p><p> </p><p>'Dramatic, perhaps, but it would achieve the exact thing you're aiming for."  </p><p> </p><p>"..." </p><p> </p><p>"This needs to be done." </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link scoffed. "It would be too much of a hassle to arrange everything in a way that would ensure the Hero of the Four Sword would witness it." </p><p> </p><p>"You've never been one with an aversion for hassles," his companion sighed. "Don't tell me you've gone soft on that senile mess of an old man."</p><p> </p><p>"I haven't 'gone soft.’ I just don't see any wisdom in killing him."</p><p> </p><p>"Yes you do, or else we wouldn't be having this conversation." </p><p> </p><p>Rain slammed against the window with petulant insistence, and Dark Link had a half mind to bang back against the glass and demand the irritating weather be on its way. The wretched song the Hero of Time loved so much echoed in his mind. Out of all the bizarre and quite frankly, useless spells the young hero had to learn, the Song of Storms was the worst of them. What a horrible spell it was, banishing a beautiful morning in favor of a dreary thunderstorm. </p><p> </p><p>Those heroes. </p><p> </p><p>He would never understand them, and, in all honesty, he preferred to keep it that way. </p><p> </p><p>"Focus, Dark Link." </p><p> </p><p>Dark Link wanted to place his head in his hands and argue against the idea. He rolled it around in his mind like a lint roller, searching for strands of weakness to pick up and throw back at his companion. He came back with nothing. The plan was quite literally the perfect solution. </p><p> </p><p>This time, Dark Link allowed himself to sigh. He laced his fingers together, forced himself to sit up straight, and stared his companion in the eye. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm not any great fan of the idea, but I suppose it has to be done." </p><p> </p><p>Lightening boomed overhead. It washed the room in harsh, neon purple and illuminated the wall-length mirror sitting on the chair opposite to Dark Link. </p><p> </p><p>Just outside the hallway, a phantom guard pulled his ear away from the door. The rusty cut along his breastplate stung with the cold. Blood made of platinum stardust and ectoplasm ran hot with oil and dread. He turned on his heels, struggling and failing to keep his breathing even as he hurried up the stairs. The implications of what he heard blared through his mind like a funeral dirge.</p><p> </p><p>"Yo, #2140, what's the rush?" </p><p> </p><p>The guard locked his knees and turned to face his friend. The other guard looked back with equal parts confusion and curiosity. </p><p> </p><p>"The Boss. He's doing it." </p><p> </p><p>"Doing what?" </p><p> </p><p>"Exactly what we all knew he would." </p><p> </p><p>"...no. You're kidding me." </p><p> </p><p>#2140 shook his head. The other guard stared, and a flash of terror could be seen through the metal visor. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm going to go warn him," #2140 said, "you go tell the others." </p><p> </p><p>The two parted ways with a hasty salute. Armor clattered against the floor and the corridor grew dark with mold and mist. Hot breaths puffed into the air and lingered like little nebulas as Smith's cell grew close. Memories of crocheting lessons and friendly conversations and knock-knock jokes passed back and forth through a stone wall grew deafening. The resolve in the guard's heart hardened from titanium to diamond, and he knocked quietly on the door. </p><p> </p><p>"Who's there?" a cheerful voice called. </p><p> </p><p>"#2140." </p><p> </p><p>"Oh! Alright, give me a moment!" </p><p> </p><p>The door handle rattled and eventually rolled to the side as Smith successfully picked the lock. A ruddy, cheerful face peered out from the space between the door and the doorframe. Something deep within #2140's heart grew soft. </p><p> </p><p>"The storm is so pretty, isn't it?" Smith asked, stepping outside just far enough to reveal the two knitting needles he carried in his hands. His eyes were blurry with sleep, but that irrepressible joy he had quickly become beloved for still shone through. </p><p> </p><p>#2140 didn't answer. Instead, he crouched on his knees and placed both hands on Smith's shoulders. The old man flinched, whether from the sudden physical contact or the surprise of seeing the hulking being come down to his level was impossible to tell. </p><p> </p><p>"What's wrong?" Smith finally asked. </p><p> </p><p>#2140 blinked quickly and steeled his voice. </p><p> </p><p>"Sir, we need to get you out of here as quickly as possible." </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Breaking news: Dark Link's most trusted advisor is his reflection! Local guards say "haha what a loser lol" </p><p>I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! If you enjoyed please don't be afraid to drop a kudos or a comment! I'll always respond to comments, and each and every kudos means so much to me! I screwed around a little more than usual with the tone and prose style, so if you see anything that's confusing or hard to follow, don't be afraid to let me know how I can improve or clarify things! </p><p>See you all next week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. (Don't) Touch Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dark Link keeps his memories under lock and key. </p><p>He owns neither the lock nor the key, though.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>When you feel me up against your bones<br/>Now don't you tell me to leave you alone<br/>Now don't you tell me, now don't you tell me<br/>I wear the crown coz I'm the one<br/>To be anointed by you touch<br/>Oh how you heal me, oh how you heal me</p><p> </p><p>◢ ◤ "Touch Me" - Avicii ◢ ◤</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Everything stunk of memories.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Mountains with ice-river scars along their sides, </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>midnight oceans warm with afternoon sunlight, </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>leatherbound books with sepia flaking off the pages </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The shadows, too </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>They smelled like </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>memories </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>half remembered </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>mostly forgotten </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>two millennia old </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>and stained with age </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>they stunk of </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>charcoal </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>and obsidian scales </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Small feet tapped against the floor, and a body half Dark Link's height and two millenia younger wrapped around his soul. The dusty, midnight-water taste of memories blared in his ears, and he coughed out the taste from tiny, fake lungs.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A memory, it's a memory. A memory, a memory, just a memory--</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"How long are you going to keep me waiting, brat?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone up ahead turned to him, their face sharp with irritation. Dark Link but younger stares back. Eyes seeing for the first time boggle out of his head, and Ghirahim lets out a sharp sigh.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hurry up or I'm going to leave you behind." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sword spirit's steps grew quicker. Dark Link stood dumbly in the hallway, his body locked in perfect imitation of a scene from millenia ago. Ghirahim disappeared around a corner, not so much as bothering to look back, and a swell of panic burned through Dark Link's chest. He sprinted down the hallway and hurried to Ghirahim's side. A glare and an exhortation to keep better pace in the future was the only reprimand he got.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something smelled like flames and warmth. Ghirahim all but pushed Dark Link into the adjacent room, and the smell of crackling fire and ancient power sent smoky tears down the boy's face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's already started to manifest?"  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The voice was slow and old and sad, and Dark Link didn't remember it. He looked to Ghirahim, who was bowing before the other being in the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes, Master," the sword spirit began, "it's only a few days old, but that's to be expected." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It. Not him. A second memory is formed, superimposed on the first, and Dark Link burnt it away as soon as it formed. He had always remembered this little conversation and the thousand ones like it, but never had they resurrected themselves. The memory resurfaced, and he burnt it again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Demise stared down at him. Dark Link felt the ink curling around his figure bubble and hiss at the being's proximity, and the burnt memories melted back together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is it strong enough to fight?" Demise asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Not yet, Master."  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I suppose we will have to wait, then. Perhaps it will grow along with the hero. Come along with me...Dark Link." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And there, at the feet of a being both impossibly wise and impossibly malevolent, he had been christened. There were no satin sheets or laughing mothers, no small cupcakes with fondant imitations of religious paraphernalia pressed against white cream. He had been born as an afterthought of another being's existence, named "Dark Link" by a god and an "it" by a servant, raised in a dark alleyway between worlds that would all see him as nothing but a reflection of something greater. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so the memories went on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The vision flickered. Flame turned to frost, and Dark Link stumbled on lanky legs as he adjusted to the second memory. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The world glistened white. Rolling hills sleeping under a blanket of frost roiled before him. Dark Link's vision filled with the familiar sight of Ghirahim's back, five paces away, shoulders pulled up and away from the trailing shadow. Snow crunched and left small impressions of Ghirahim's footsteps, forgetting to remember Dark Link's. The sword spirit's breath clouded into the air. Dark Link's didn't. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was older in this memory, limbs thin and weak in mimicry of his eleven year-old reflection. His eyes had first begun to glow a faint crimson a few days ago, the aftereffects of the hero's first flirt with true vice, but Ghirahim still dubbed him as weak. The hero was too noble, Ghirahim had said, and there was little material for Dark Link to draw his strength from. The shadow hadn't responded or bit back. He never did. He never had. He didn't have the strength to. Maybe he never would. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Demise had wanted to wait. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghirahim had wanted to throw him away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link had wanted nothing, because the voice in his head was still too weak and too shallow to create its own drum, let alone march to its beat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What a horrible thing this snow business is. Look at it!" Ghirahim exclaimed, kicking a snowdrift and sneering when it seeped into his boots. Dark Link watched the white fluff cloud into the air and drift into the wind. With a snarl and haughty readjustment of his cloak, Ghirahim continued his rant. "This stuff is disgusting. I can't imagine how Hylia's little slaves can stand it. It looks like vomit. Or undercooked rice. Undercooked rice vomit." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghirahim picked up his pace as he prattled on about other pale, unsightly things comparable to the snow-covered landscape before them. Dark Link picked up a handful of the offensive ivory and watched it sift through his fingers. Light caught on the snowflakes and scattered little rainbow shards across the white world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't make me wait, stupid brat. I don't have all day." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Dark Link had any more personality, he might have rolled his eyes, but with things as they were he could only cross his arms. "You actually do have all day, Master Ghirahim. Master Demise said that this mission was optional, and there isn't a specific time we're supposed to be back." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghirahim's face hardened. "Whatever, pathetic whelp. Even if I did have all day I wouldn't waste it babysitting you." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link let go of the snow in his hand and hurried over to the sword spirit. Ghirahim's coat trembled, and it took Dark Link a moment to realize it wasn't from the breeze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you cold?" Dark Link asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A snort echoed through the clearing, and Ghirahim's cloak tightened around his shoulders. "No, I'm perfectly warm. That's why I'm shivering, idiot." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link didn't mind the insult. He couldn't, really. Dull eyes stared silently at the sword spirit. Something in Ghirahim's expression softened when Dark Link gently tucked a stray coat fringe around the sword spirit's neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I might be a little bit cold, fine, but we'll only be here for a little bit. Master needs us -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- to bring in some ice for him." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why?" Dark Link asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, spare me; did you already forget?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"How could I forget something you never told me?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghirahim's jaw opened and closed. There was no doubt that a creative insult had been cooking at the back of his mouth, but the fact that Ghirahim had indeed not explained anything about their mission would have made it fall flat. He grunted and turned to Dark Link. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Master is stockpiling power. Ice is the best way to do that." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What do you mean?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Put your hand in the air." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link did as instructed. At first, he only registered the vague sensation of wind against his fingers, but the feeling grew warm and prickly with static. He drew his hand back with a wince. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do you feel that?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghirahim huffed and bit his lip. A little of his absurdly-colored lipstick rubbed off on his teeth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Listen, little shadow, I don't have all day. Do you feel it or not?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link's eyes glinted. "Didn't you just admit that you had all day?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A cloud of diamonds burst into the air. Ghirahim disappeared and reappeared a couple hundred paces away. Forgetting about the fizzy warmth floating through the air, Dark Link sprinted to catch up with Ghirahim and gently take hold of his hand. Not a word was exchanged either in apology or reprimand, but Ghirahim slowed his pace to match Dark Link's. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I know you felt it," the sword spirit finally said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Was that magic?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghirahim looked like he wanted to say something sarcastic, but he evidently decided against it when he replied with only a simple yes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"There's enough magic floating through this clearing to bring a dead man back to life, but in the state it's in now, it's useless." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link flinched in confusion. The word "useless" was usually reserved for him, and it felt almost wrong to be sharing the nickname with something else. The confusion only mounted as Ghirahim continued. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"If you want to cast a powerful spell, just having a lot of magic isn't enough." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Keep interrupting me and I'll gladly warp you back home."  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link shut his mouth so fast the tip of his tongue caught on his teeth. There was no pain, but the faint numbing of his mouth suggested that there should have been. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Anyway, if you want to cast a powerful spell, you need the magic to be highly pressurized. It's similar to how you can turn water into a pressure cutter if you compress it correctly. However, since magic usually exists in a very diasporic state, the process of pressurization usually needs to be done by hand."  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Does that have something to do with ice?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hint of a smile flickered across Ghirahim's face. "Well, perhaps you're not as stupid as I thought you were." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That same, faintly numb feeling spread through Dark Link's chest. No more explanation was offered after that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The memory sped up. Dark Link reeled from the heat, unsure where the distant sound of crackling snow came from, and found his balance nearly slipping out of his grasp when a scene cooled in front of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crimson eyes blinked quickly. Only the familiar shape of tall, twisting icicles came into view, turning from blue to gold under Demise's touch. The rest of the world remained saturated with disremembrance, and only the familiar steel of Ghirahim's presence suggested that he wasn't really alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What is he doing?" Dark Link asked, pointing to Demise.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghirahim's earrings clinked as the sword spirit placed a hand on his hip. "Didn't we talk about this earlier? The ice is cooling down Master's magic and forcing it to harden. The lattice-like structure of ice makes it optimal for storehousing spells such as the one Master is casting now -- it'll be only a few minutes until each icicle has about an ocean's worth of energy stored within." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link had never seen the ocean, but the illustration sounded like it was meant to be impressive. He let out a fake "oh" of awe. Ghirahim rolled his eyes at Dark Link's poor acting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's supposed to be impressive, yes." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What can you do with all that magic?" Dark Link asked, still unable to turn away from the pulsating, glowing icicles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ghirahim looked at his nails. "Nothing that concerns you." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ghirahim," Demise chastised, his voice steaming like ice on lava. "Don't antagonize it."  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The haughtiness on Ghirahim's face melted to demurity. "Yes, Master." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, then, what can you do with all that magic?" Dark Link asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hmph. Anything you want, really. Master's magic energy is almost unlimited, and with all that power as compressed as it is, you could do a novel's worth of impossible things." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Could you bring a dead man back to life?" Dark Link asked, thinking back to the conversation from earlier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"With that kind of power? Please. You could raise an entire kingdom of corpses. You could manufacture your own soul, even." Ghirahim tossed him a dirty look. "Might do you some good, little brat. Granted that you can even get that kind of magic energy in the first place." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link was too enamored with the idea to think much of Ghirahim's auxiliary insult. Darkness seeped over the edges of his vision and blurred through the corners like ink on cloth. The vision tore away under a salty wave of supression, frothing with bad memories and things better left unsaid. Thoughts of words said long ago and plans made in infinity past flashed off the backs of dolphins until they melted away in black waters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone knocked on the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Boss? Are you alright? I heard something break..." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link blinked slowly. His vision sharpened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was back in the Tower of Spirits, on the floor of his room, with the glass of his dresser vanity scattered around him like snow. He hastily picked himself up and brushed off the shards of glass stuck to his tunic. Trails of silver blood slithered down his arms. He wiped them away with the undersides of his palms and swallowed a sigh when they disappeared. Perhaps they were only a clever illusion for now, but it was all preparation for something just a sword swing away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Boss?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm fine. Tell my guest to prepare himself. I'm going to pay him a short visit." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guard hurried off before he could even finish speaking. Dark Link's eyes narrowed. His face tightened. The guards never ran when he gave them orders...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Had they finally learned to respect him? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link snorted at the thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps they had figured out what his plan was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No matter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link brushed back his hair and smoothed out the wrinkles in his tunic. A glimpse of his reflection stared back through the mirror shards. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled, and for the first time, a genuine emotion ghosted across his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn't look like happiness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>#2140 was panicking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His armor was too hot, his helmet was too big, and none of his words were warm enough to get Smith to look at him. The guard shuffled awkwardly from armored foot to armored foot, flailing and failing to find something to say. A silver-stained coolness from the storm outside seeped through the wall. Smith shivered. #2140 already knew it wasn't from the cold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sir, please, you need to come with us," #2140 repeated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No response. #2140 inhaled awkwardly and cast a glance at the lookout guard standing in the doorway. #7000 held #2140's desperate stare, then straightened his posture and turned to Smith. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We'll keep you safe," #7000 added from the doorway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith pressed his knitting needles to his chest. His beard was greyer than it was five minutes ago. Liver spots stood out like scars along his hands and face. The corners of the blacksmith's lips twitched downward in time with his shaking fingers. #7000 and #2140 traded a glance.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You can't stay here," #7000 insisted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He's not going to hurt me," Smith whispered. "He won't. He's learned, right? We're friends." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guards traded another glance. Smith's ingenuity had been no unobserved phenomenon; everyone knew that Smith had never been truly fooled by Dark Link's friendly facade. Neither #2140 or #7000 had to be told that Smith's initial reaction to the news was just that, an initial reaction; he was a hardy old man -- even if he was shaken now, it wouldn't take long for him to come to terms with the new state of things. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith shivered again, his body bending under the weight of fears finally realized. #2140 sat on his knees and waited until Smith turned to look at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I heard him with my own ears, sir. The boss wants to kill you. You need to come with us; we'll get you somewhere safe." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith's eyes skimmed across the room, pointedly ignoring the guards' metal stares. #2140 followed his gaze and found it fastened to a small painting on the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Metal creaked as he stood up to gently dislodge the painting from the nail it hung from, squeaking again when #2140 turned to hand the painting to Smith. After a moment of hesitation, the painting traded hands. Smith held the frame with quiet, wordless awe, drinking in the familiar sight of the little acrylic family sleeping in front of an equally acrylic fire. White eyelashes fluttered. #2140's breath grew unpleasantly warm. He had hoped the painting would be able to calm the old man down, but it looked like it was having the opposite effect. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lightning snapped. Thunder followed on its heels, shaking the soft soil at the tower's foundation. Rain trickled through the ceiling and pooled in the floor's grout joints. Smith's grip on the painting tightened. A navy blue chill sparkled in his eyes as he turned, for the first time that day, to truly meet #2140's gaze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You need to leave me here," he insisted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>#7000 stiffened in the doorway. #2140 ignored the aching in his heart and slowly shook his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sir, we can't---"  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You need to. I need to be there for him." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"For who?" #2140 began, words taut with a sticky mess of fear and frustration. "Sir, I know that this is an unpleasant development, but what I said is true. I--" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I know. I know, and I believe you. I know he wants to kill me. I always knew he would. I'm just...I'm just surprised that it's happening so soon." Smith inhaled slowly and let out a wet breath. Even his exhale shivered in the frigid air. "You need to leave me here." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Metal thudded against stone. #7000 left his post by the doorway and stepped inside the room, his armored chest swallowing up whatever space was left to fill. A broad shadow fell over Smith's small form. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"With all due respect," #7000 began, "you do realize that you won't be able to just talk the boss out of this, right? You need to run. We're only here to help." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith shook his head once again, but at what, it was impossible to tell. He looked down at the painting in his hand as if the truth were painted in the acrylic fireplace.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He's sad,” Smith whispered, “he's so sad, you know, he wouldn't try to kill me if he wasn't...happy people don't kill others..." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>#7000 snorted. "And neither do good people. Listen, I know that The Boss has gotten on your sweet side, but you can't stay here. It's all manipulation. Everything he's done, all the niceties and gifts...please listen to me, the only person he cares about is himself. I know how much it hurts to hear this, and I know how much you didn't want things to turn out this way, but you have to go. You can't save him." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith lifted his chin as if to shake his head, but it fell back down to his chest. Something wet shone on his cheek. #2140 stifled the urge to wipe it away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why?" Smith whispered. "Why, why does he want this? Why does he want to kill me?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guards glanced at each other once again. A moment of silence deliberation passed between them, and, after a curt nod, #7000 agreed to step back outside to keep watch. The weight of breaking bad news settled on #2140's sternum for the second time that day. Bitter words condensed against the metal of his visor as leaned back down to Smith's eye level. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sir, The Boss wants to kill you in front of your grandson. This will...well, in a roundabout way, it'll make him stronger." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No response. #2140 took it as permission to continue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Your grandson is a hero, yes?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"In more ways than one," Smith murmured with a soft smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Now listen, I don't know too much about this stuff, but what I do understand is that The Boss draws strengths from all the bad things in your grandson. If your grandson is healthy and happy, The Boss is weak. If your grandson becomes angry and full of himself, The Boss becomes stronger. Does that make any sense?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smith trailed his fingers along the painting's frame, then slowly nodded his head. "Well, considering that his name is Dark Link, I suppose it does." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An unexpected laugh escaped #2140. Smith brightened at the noise, but all mirth washed away when the thunder boomed once again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This wasn't the time for jokes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>#2140 fiddled with the hinge of his metal visor and turned to face Smith once again. "Sir, if he kills you, he'll---" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cell door swung open and slammed against the wall. #7000's bulky frame filled up the doorway. A faint tremor skittered over the edge of his silhouette, and the stardust flowing through #2140's spirit grew cold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The Boss. He's coming." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>#2140 let out a sharp breath, swallowing it back up again when a second face peeked through the doorway. He relaxed when he recognized the bright, sunbleached patch on the newcomer’s right pauldron. It was only Bleach -- thank the goddesses. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other phantom guard had also once had a number, but everyone (including him) had forgotten what it was. Smith had nicknamed him in honor of his defective armor not even two days ago, but the new name had already stuck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hi, Bleach," Smith murmured. Bleach waved back, his usual smile either hidden behind his visor or dead under the weight of the room's tension.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The Boss wanted me to tell you that he’ll be along in just a few minutes," Bleach explained. "He said for “the guest” to get ready. #2140, you should probably get out of there before he gets here." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>#2140 nodded stiffly, standing up and hurrying out of the cell. He ignored the warmth of Smith's gaze on his back and took an uneasy station outside the cell door. #7000 and Bleach joined him a heartbeat later, all shaking from the discomfort.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>None of them had the heart to look at the tiny old man shivering in his cell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moments passed. A  whispered debate about whether or not The Boss was visiting to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> echoed between the three guards. A rough plan to protect the old man as best they could was hashed out in a matter of seconds. It was riddled with more holes than a fisher’s net, but it was something, at least. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The conversation faded. Old words lingered in the air. Down the hall, footsteps clicked on tile. Every spine straightened and every hand tightened around the owner's weapon of choice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>#2140 swallowed heavily and pressed his head against the wall. There was no way they would be able to fend off The Boss. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Inhale</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Exhale</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No matter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Better to die defending the old man than let The Boss take him first. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hallway grew heavy with the familiar scent of brimstone and rose perfume. Bleach gagged quietly at the stench. #2140 pushed the air out of his pseudo-lungs, forcing the odor out of his body, and waited for The Boss to arrive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sheet of ink spilled across the floor as Dark Link approached. Long, undone hair skirted around his shoulders. A handful of wrinkles webbed across the side of his tunic. His eyes seemed redder than usual, and a tense muscle pulsed against the side of his jaw. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked terrible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>#2140’s gaze trailed downwards and snagged on Dark Link’s right fist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something hidden in it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> #2140 couldn't tell what it was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Boss only gave the guards a passing glance before raising a wrist to wave them away. They didn't move. The muscle along his jaw grew tighter, pulsing with an almost convincing anger. #2140 swelled his chest and dug his feet into the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Open the door," Dark Link insisted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stardust turned to gasoline, slipping through #2140's body with crippling heat. To disobey a direct order was the equivalent of suicide. To obey would be the equivalent of homicide. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He's asleep," #7000 blurted out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link gave the guard a blank look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No he isn't. Open the door." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one moved. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You know, don't you?"  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one breathed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Very well. I suppose it was inevitable. #2140, come here." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The instinct to shrink back pulled at his wrists and elbows. His resolve fractured. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"#2140, quickly." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Inhale</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Exhale</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>#2140 lifted his chin and strode forward, then bowed before Dark Link. Rivulets of ink gushed across the floor as The Boss drew closer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Look at me." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>#2140 did as instructed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark Link slowly opened up his right fist, then gently placed its contents into #2140's hands. The guard didn't dare look until he had received permission to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Stand up, now." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>#2140 did. A thousand alarm bells screeched at the back of his head, ringing with confusion at The Boss's uncharacteristic patience and propriety. He had never once been addressed with so much cordiality. Stardust steamed off #2140's shoulders as he slowly unfurled his spine and rose to his full height. His palm remained strangely light. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Give that to Smith," Dark Link said, his eyes glowing a sickly pink in the dim light. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Confused, #2140 finally glanced at the object Dark Link handed to him. A small, glossy-looking book sat in his palm. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be...some sort of magazine? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm taking Smith to dinner in Castle Town," Dark Link said. "The storm is going to clear up in the next hour. I need him to be ready by then. Give him that catalogue of restaurants in the shopping plaza -- I need him to quickly decide on one so I can make a reservation." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do you understand?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Of course, Boss," #2140 hurriedly replied, trying to iron out the overwhelming relief from his voice. Dark Link nodded vaguely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Very well. I'm going to be back when the storm is gone. I need him to be ready by then." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guards nodded slowly. Dark Link turned to go, shoes clicking on that tile in that hellish way of his. The sound stopped just before he reached the end of the hallway. Two pinpricks of crimson glared back at them from the other side of the hallway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do not try and get in my way," a thunderesque voice demanded. It echoed down the hallway and stuck to the sides of #2140's armor. "The only reason I haven't killed each of you yet is because I know you can't stop me. I don't want to have to kill more people than I have to." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Footsteps receded, and the hallway was sanctified once again.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>#2140 looked down at the book in his hand. A glossy picture of a smiling girl stared back at him, her face rosy with makeup as she gestured happily to the plaza before her. Somewhere far away, Smith’s door slowly opened and both #7000 and Bleach debriefed him on the new developments. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A raindrop dripped through the ceiling and trailed down the catalogue’s shiny cover, sending tear tracks down the girl’s smiling face. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey there, everyone! So sorry about the missed upload last week; I finished another series I was working on and didn't have much more energy to write. However, since that other series is finished, I now have a bit more time. Thus, this fic now has a new update schedule (Fridays and Sundays)! Hopefully you all will enjoy the accelerated updates. :D </p><p>Also (and this is something I should have said from the beginning) my apologies for any grammatical errors! If you see a mistake please don't be afraid to point it out -- mistakes often slip past me when I'm editing! </p><p>I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Things will start wrapping up soon -- thank you once again to all the amazing people who have left so many kind comments and kudos so far, without your help there is absolutely no way this fic would be where it is today. Thank you all once again! Have a good one, guys 💖 </p><p>(Edit: Nevermind, I'll probably have to put the fic back on its original schedule. AP test prep is starting to take up more and more of my time as the days go by, and I don't think I'll be able to properly write the last few chapters on such a time crunch. I hope you all will forgive me!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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